


An Abundance of Dereks

by Poedhamerons



Category: An Abundance of Katherines, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - An Abundance of Katherines, Alternate Universe - Human, And Erica is awesome, And Scott is in love, And heavily pined over one, Basically Stiles has dated 17 Dereks, F/M, M/M, firefighter!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poedhamerons/pseuds/Poedhamerons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski realised he had a problem after his eighteenth Derek decided to break up with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stiles Stilinski Goes Roadtripping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles had always wondered if a puppy would have made his life better. But he had Scott, so he basically had one anyways, and without the downsides of having to clean up after him.

                Stiles realised he had a problem after his eighteenth Derek decided to break up with him.

                To be fair, each Derek had been attractive and nice and all around amazing at first, so it's not like Stiles was born horribly unattractive or had a strange, Derek-repelling pheromone that activated at a crossroads of their relationship. No, it just so happened that he met Dereks, dated them, and then they broke up with him. But, as natural as the process now was, Stiles still wasn't used to it. Getting dumped was a bitch.

                So it was, the day after he'd graduated university (or rather, the last few hours of the day and a few hours early into the next morning) that Stiles found himself getting dumped, yet again, by Derek the eighteenth, better known as Surfer Derek.

                Surfer Derek was a pretty great Derek, in Stiles' unbiased opinion. He didn't surf, unfortunately, and the name was just Scott's way of keeping track of all the different Dereks, a system that had unfortunately rubbed off on Stiles. Scott had long since mastered the art of aptly naming Dereks in ways that never ceased to amaze Stiles. The most recent Derek, Derek Morgan, was blond (hence the name, Surfer Derek), blue-eyed, and terribly short. The top of his head came up to Stiles' chin, and Stiles wasn't exactly a record-breaker in height. Not only this, but he was painfully, _painfully_ attractive, and Stiles had thanked every day that they were together (293 days exactly) that Derek had chosen him.

                That was why, ten hours after Stiles had gotten his heart ripped to shreds for what felt like the hundredth time, he was lying on the floor of his carpet, depressed out of his skull and sort of really needing someone to talk to.

                "Dude, why are you on the floor?" Stiles let out a slow, depressed moan at this, but remained where he was, face down upon his carpet. He was secretly pleased that Scott had come, but at the same time, the most attractive boy Stiles had ever dated had just broken up with him, and _could he not focus on that, please?_

                "Where’s Derek, I thought you two were going to hang out?" In answer to that, Stiles let out a longer, more pained moan, which seemed to get his message across.

                "Shit," Scott said, displaying his eloquent knowledge of grade 12 English. "I am so sorry, man, when did it happen?"

                "Yesterday night," Stiles replied, which, with his face mashed into the carpet, sounded more like, 'snurferlth nerft', but Scott understood, sitting down next to Stiles on the floor and leaning back on his bed.

                "Shit," He repeated. Then, "We gotta do something to take your mind off of this."

                Stiles actually raised his head at that, staring up at Scott with narrowed eyes. "If you're suggesting a makeout party or hitting up a gay club, I'm definitely not in."

                Scott waved his hand, annoyed, but continued on. "Nah, it's our last summer before, like, _commitments_ , you know? So let's do something fun and get your mind off of Derek at the same time!"

                Stiles buried his face in the carpet and let out another groan in reply.

                "Okay, is this because of Derek, or the fun thing? Because I haven't even told you what I have in mind yet."

                "I just love him so much," Stiles replied, and with that, Scott stood up and left the room. For a moment, Stiles felt bad about Scott and wanted to stand up and pull him back and ask him his plans, but then he remembered that he was in the middle of a really great self-pity session that had already gone on for ten hours and he wasn't going to stop just because Scott had left.

                Unfortunately for Stiles, Scott returned not thirty seconds later, hoisting Stiles up and dragging him downstairs with a, "You need to eat to get your strength up. Long trip ahead of us."

                It took Stiles an embarrassingly long time for his fork to clatter to his plate and his head to snap towards Scott and him to cry out, "Wait, _what long trip?"_

                "Road trip," Scott replied casually from his place, feet propped up on the table and chair tipping back on two legs.

                "No, never in a million years will I go on a road trip with you."

                "I'm offended," Scott replied, not looking up from his phone.

                "No, seriously dude, I'm not doing this."

                "Stiles," Scott set down the phone, looking up and meeting Stiles' gaze. "You're taking this breakup pretty hard. And dude, I totally get that I should probably back off, but _eighteen breakups_ , man. I think, more than anything, you need time to get away from this town and to get away from him, because otherwise you'll spend the whole summer avoiding him and pining from afar and I, as your best friend, cannot let you do that."

                Stiles was touched. Not only because Scott knew him that well, but because he was actually willing to do this for Stiles' sake. "Yeah, I... guess I do kind of need to get away for a bit."

                Scott beamed, running a hand through his hair, "Dude, this is going to be so _fucking_ awesome."

                Stiles snorted, giving Scott a halting smile, still feeling sort of like his heart was getting slowly and methodically sawed out of his chest, but ... less so. He vented it by standing up, scooping up his plate and making his way into the kitchen, kicking at Scott's chair's back two legs as he made his way over.

                The resulting squeal made everything worth it, and Stiles left the room deciding that yes, he might just go on a road trip.

*

                “No, you are not going on a road trip.” John looked up at Stiles and Scott’s pleading faces, nonplussed.

                “But _dad,_ ” Stiles tried to look like a responsible teenager. “Scott will be with me!”

                “Yeah Mr. S, I’ll be with Stiles the entire time!” Scott beamed at John, and Stiles figured that it was probably more Scott’s innocent face that made his dad sigh like that and say,

                “Where do you want to go to?”

                “It’s a road trip, dad. We won’t know until we get there.” Stiles shook his head, giving Scott a look.

                “Ignoring that for the time being, will you call me? Everyday so I know you’re safe?”

                “Of course.” Stiles blinked at his dad. They had been through a lot together, he and his dad, and Stiles wasn’t going to let miles between them prevent them from talking. He was almost offended his dad had asked, but it was probably a footnote in some parenting handbook somewhere.

                “And you’ll avoid anybody with the name Derek?”

                “ _DAD!_ ” Stiles flushed at that, looking to Scott for sympathy, but Scott was nodding in agreement. He caught Stiles’ incredulous look and froze mid-nod, giving him a weak smile.

                “I’m serious, Stiles, you know way too many Dereks. I don’t even know how you find them all.” John sighed, as if disappointed in his son’s lack of ability to branch out.

                “I told you, I know a guy.” Scott let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like, ‘ _eighteen guys’_ , but Stiles just glared as Scott gave him a shifty smile.

                “So,” Scott turned back to John and bobbed back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Can we go Mr. S? I promise I’ll keep Stiles away from Dereks.”

                “Maybe this is just me getting old, but yeah. Okay. Stiles, you better come back here with a smile on your face,” John looked up at his son, searching carefully. “You’ve been moping around too long.”

                Scott made an agreeable noise and Stiles groaned, pushing Scott out of the room. Before he left, he turned back, flashing a small smile at his dad.

                “Thanks, dad. I promise to call everyday and keep Scott out of trouble and—”

                “Stiles, just promise me you’ll be fine.”

                Stiles hesitated a moment before jerking his head in a nod. “Yeah, I think I will.”

                “Then that’s all I need to hear.”

                Stiles’ smile widened and he stood still, basking in the moment before Scott’s muffled voice came down from Stiles’ room, asking Stiles if he really needed to pack Batman boxers for the trip.

*

                Really, Stiles had been expecting Melissa to put up more of a fuss. She had always been just as protective of Scott as John was of Stiles, and it was almost breaking his heart to drive away from the large Beacon Hills sign.

Almost.

“We’re free, man! No parents, no job, nothing holding us down!” Scott was too excited, Stiles decided, but he was grinning too broadly to think about stopping their trek. Stiles’ thumbs drummed against the wheel as they lapsed into a comfortable silence, with Scott staring out the window as Stiles blasted his music loud enough to scare away birds.

He drove for at least six hours, reveling in the task of driving. It became almost delightfully monotonous at the two hour mark, but Stiles continued, thoughts of Derek slipping from his mind as quickly as they came. Scott was asleep when he finally realized that he’d need to stop, and Stiles took vicious delight in waking him as he pulled into a gas station.

“Honey, we’re home!” Stiles sang as he pushed his door open, slamming it behind him and jolting Scott into a half-awake daze. “Actually, we’re in Oregon, but home is only six hours away, so whatever.”

“Or...egon?” Scott spoke thickly, as if he’d never heard of the word before.

“That’s the one!” Stiles replied cheerfully, pulling Scott’s door open and motioning for him to get out. “Get out of the seat dude, I need sleep.”

“Ugh,” Scott growled, undoing his seat belt and slipping out, plodding around the front and looking around as Stiles buckled himself in. “Are we at a gas station?”

“No, we’re at a carnival,” Scott rolled his eyes at that, but yelped as Stiles tossed his wallet towards him. “And can you pay for gas? We’re running low.”

“I hate you.” Scott hissed, waving the wallet threateningly at Stiles, but turned to go inside.

“Love you too, sweetie!” Stiles called back, and was treated to Scott flipping him off before entering the building.

*

“I’m exhausted. Please tell me we can stop sometime soon,” Scott was practically asleep at the wheel and Stiles ground his teeth, looking around.

“I am sleeping in a bed, or so help me god, McCall, I will never forgive you.” They had been driving for twelve hours combined now, straight through the night with only a few stops along the way, and both Stiles and Scott were beginning to feel it. Light was bleeding through the gloom and Stiles checked his phone, hissing when he saw that it was six in the morning.

“Dude, there’s a convenience store up there, and I’m dying over here.”

“Yeah, yeah, grab some energy drinks or something and let’s crash at the nearest motel.” Stiles waved his hand vaguely, staring down at his contacts list, wondering if he should call his dad so early in the morning. Deciding against it, Stiles tucked the phone away as Scott parked haphazardly outside the convenience store, stepping out of the car and marveling at how great places like this were.

                As they both went in, Stiles flashed a tired smile at the girl behind the counter, an attractive blonde who was watching what looked like a horror flick on the tiny screen beside the register. Scott immediately made his way to the back, where he promptly began drooling over the vast assortment of energy drinks, while Stiles ambled over to the girl, quietly watching the movie.

                “Leprechaun four?” He asked, vaguely impressed.

                “Best one,” She replied, then paused it, giving him a look. “You buying something, or did you just come for the entertainment?”

                “My friend’s buying something,” Stiles made a vague motion towards Scott and the woman, Erica if he went by the nametag, craned her neck to see.

                “He looks like he’s having a tough time,” She commented thoughtfully, and Stiles turned just in time to see Scott’s eyes bug out, his hands going to his mouth as he began to cough heavily.

                “Well, fuck,” Stiles said, and rushed over.

*

                “Is he choking?!” Erica looked panicked, running over beside Stiles as he dropped in front of Scott, eyes tracing his face, looking for some indication of where his inhaler may be.

                “Asthma attack,” Stiles gritted out, suddenly remembering that the inhaler was _in the fucking car._ “Do you know anything about first aid?”

                “I’m training to be a paramedic,” Erica replied, suddenly looking calm and turning her attention to Scott. “Are you getting his inhaler?”

                “Yeah, it’s in the car, I’ll be back in a second.” Stiles leapt up, and raced to the car, unlocking it quickly. He tossed clothing and garbage around, searching for the inhaler, remembering having seen it atop one of his own sweaters. Panicking, Stiles slipped from the backseat and into the trunk, cursing Scott for not carrying his stuff with him _all the time_. He burrowed beneath a pile of Kitkat wrappers, hands brushing something plastic, and pulled it out from underneath.

                “YES!” Stiles cried, punching the air in success before remembering that his friend was choking inside and he should probably get him the inhaler before he did something stupid, like _die_.

                Stiles dashed inside, hauling the door open and practically throwing the object at Erica, and letting out a strangled cry as she caught it and gave Stiles a loathing look for treating it so badly. She handed it to Scott and Stiles let out a sigh of relief, watching Scott take a deep breath.

                “We should get him somewhere to lie down,” Erica noted, reaching out to slip a hand under Scott’s arms in support, helping him as he tried to stand. Stiles nodded in agreement, but made a noise of surprise as she began to lead him to the door.

                “Where are you going?” He asked, suddenly afraid that Erica was going to abduct Scott right before him.

                “My friend lives near here, he can give your friend a place to rest for a bit,” She pulled the door open, propping it open with her foot as she reached up and flipped the OPEN sign.

                “This friend...” Stiles began nervously, unsure what he’d tell Melissa if she found out her son had been taken because Stiles had trusted the first stranger he met.

                “Don’t worry, he’s a firefighter, he knows how to deal with emergency situations.” Erica motioned for Stiles to give her the car keys as Scott woozily leaned up against the jeep. He dug through his pockets and tossed them to her, just as she added, “His name’s Derek.”

                Stiles stopped dead in his tracks, staring after Erica as she gently pushed and pulled Scott into the backseat of the car.

                As Erica got into the driver’s seat and gave him a look to get into the car, Stiles wondered just what he’d done to deserve such a fate.


	2. Stiles Stilinski Enjoys The Middle Of Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Stiles wished he had gotten into drugs and alcohol as a teen. Life would have been so much easier.

                “Hey, dad, it’s me, Stiles. I’m, uh, calling from a small town in Oregon called Wolf Paw. Ever heard of it? Me neither. Anyway, it’s like, 6:30 in the morning here and Scott had an asthma attack and now we’re at the house of this guy, Derek Hale. This other girl, Erica, told us he’s a firefighter and would have a place for Scott to recover so we’re here now and... please don’t kill me when you hear this. Uh, Scott and Erica are going inside now and Derek’s staring at me like he’s suspicious and this whole thing is kind of out of hand a bit, but I have to go. I know you’ll call me back, so I guess I don’t have to tell you to. Love you, dad.”

                Stiles ended the call feeling gross, like he betrayed his dad when really this whole thing just slipped through his fingers. He sighed, stuffing his phone in his pocket and leaving the car, looking up to see Derek still watching him, eyebrows knitted together, leaning against the doorframe, as if confused by Stiles’ very presence. Stiles gave him a painfully cheery wave and Derek seemed to realise he was staring and blinked, frowning and turning away from Stiles.

                “Fucking fuck,” Stiles shook his head, glancing back at the jeep, running his hand along the hood. “At least you’ll never be mad at me, will you baby?”

                He shook his head, leaning against the jeep now, and tossing his head back, staring up at the sky. It was growing lighter every minute, with dark, rolling blacks and blues turning to purples and reds. Stiles almost smiled, but was overcome by a wave of nostalgia, remembering an early morning of slipping out his window to join Derek, _his_ Derek, on the elementary school field. They’d been lying side by side on the field, staring up at the sky when Derek had whispered something that sounded painfully like _I love you_ , but Stiles had asked and he hadn’t replied.

                Stiles slid to the ground, and he was too shaken by the memory to go inside, instead staying where he was, basking in the self-pity and wishing, wishing _so hard_ that he could have his Derek back. He would have made this so much better, would have probably gone inside and charmed Erica and the new Derek. Wolf Paw Derek, Stiles thought, or maybe just Wolf Derek. Yes, his Derek would have sat with Stiles and stared up at the sky with him, loving the way the colours blended and consoling him. Except, if he’d been there, Stiles wouldn’t have had this aching hole in his chest, a reminder that they were now separated by state lines and he had wanted it that way.

                “Hey, you okay?” Stiles’ head jerked up and he saw Derek in the doorway again, eyeing him thoughtfully, if still a bit confused. Stiles opened his mouth to say yes, of course, but stopped.

                “Not really, but its fine. How’s Scott?” Stiles pled for normalcy and Derek seemed to go along with it.

                “Fine, he deals with his attacks well. Really, you two probably didn’t even need to come, but I think Erica was worried you were going to stay at a motel.” Derek’s face twisted into a smile.

                “We were, though.” Stiles blinked, frowning up at Derek. Derek frowned too, studying Stiles’ face carefully, as if he was genuinely surprised that Stiles wouldn’t have come straight to his house. “I mean, I don’t know anyone who lives here.”

                “... Right.” Derek licked his lips and jerked his head in a nod. “Need a hand up, or are you okay there?”

                “I just need a bit. I’ll be there in a second.”

                “Alright, come in later and I’ll get you some breakfast or something.”

                Stiles just nodded; half wishing that Derek would leave so he could get back to his memories. The moment he left though, Stiles dropped his head back, staring up at the sky, trying to grasp his memory again, but failing. It had swept away, light as wind and twice as fast, and in that moment, Stiles almost hated Derek. Both Dereks, his for leaving, and this new and strange Derek for chasing the memories away. With a groan of protest, Stiles stood, brushing off his pants and heading inside.

*

                When Stiles entered the house, making his way into the living room, where he guessed Scott would be, he was treated to an image of his friend decked out in a painful amount of luxury, from a heavy comforter to the matching pillow, and an enormous plate of what was probably every breakfast food ever invented.

                “Road trip!” Scott cried weakly, throwing his arms in the air. Stiles laughed.

                “Road trip!” Stiles replied, punching the air half-heartedly and sitting on the arm of the couch. “How’re you feeling, man?”

                “Better. It wasn’t that bad, but they both started offering me pillows and food and I couldn’t turn them down.”

                “Couldn’t?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. Scott grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I called dad and filled him in on what was happening, so no need to call your mom.”

                “Ah, thanks. I was thinking of calling, but I think she’d be angrier about calling her so early than me staying over at some random guys’ house.”

                Stiles grinned, sliding down and pulling the blanket over himself, tucking up into a ball on the couch and toeing off his shoes. “Scoot over, I wanna sleep.”

                Scott did as asked, and soon Stiles was curled up against one side of the couch, using the armrest as his pillow. “Night, Scott.”

                “Night, Stiles.”

                And they both slept.

*

                It was nighttime when Stiles awoke, which was just perfect because not only was he in a weird house, but now his sleeping schedule was messed up. Glancing to the side, he noticed that Scott was still asleep and swore softly to himself. Stiles noticed a light on behind the closed kitchen door, and slowly but painfully extracted himself from Scott, brushing himself off as he padded softly into the next room.

                “Oh, it’s you.” He blinked as he stood in the doorway, tugging at his shirt awkwardly as he realised that yes, if he was in Derek’s house, he probably should have expected Derek to be behind the door.

                Derek looked up and for a moment he looked almost sad to see Stiles before him, but the expression was gone as soon as it had come, and all that was left was the coolly blank gaze that seemed to sum up Wolf Derek.

                “Expecting someone else?” He looked almost amused at the idea, and Stiles just rolled his eyes and sat down across from him at the table.

                “Yeah, I invited all my friends over, hope you don’t mind.”

                “Mmm, so only Scott, then.” Derek leaned back in his chair, giving Stiles a _look_.

                “Hey!” Stiles jabbed his finger towards Derek. “I’ve only known you a few hours, loner jokes are off the table.”

                Derek raised his hands in defeat, a small smile flashing across his face that sort of made Stiles want to see more. “Sorry, too soon. I’ll wait ‘til tomorrow.”

                “Hmph,” They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Stiles gazed around the room, taking everything in, from the pristine paint job to the fridge, decorated with what was, frankly, an astounding number of magnets.

                “That’s a lot of magnets,” Stiles said, somewhat awkwardly, but hey. It was two in the morning.

                “Mmm, they’re my sister’s. Cora’s at university still and she does a lot travelling,” It may have been the low kitchen lighting, but Stiles noticed a warm smile on Derek’s face as he talked about his sister. “I think they’re all just in spite because I don’t want her travelling and I can’t even travel myself.”

                “Are you a terrorist or something?” Stiles blurted out and promptly died of embarrassment.

                Derek just snorted. “No, I just think that someone should always stay here at the house.”

                “Why? People move on, don’t they? Spread your wings, Der—” Stiles stuttered to a stop, grinding his teeth together at the sound of his name coming out of his own mouth. Derek didn’t seem to notice, though, and just smiled ruefully.

                “Not to be rude or anything, since you’re apparently my guests now, but what are you two doing here?” Derek leaned his chin on his hands, looking sleepy, as if Stiles was supposed to tell him a bedtime story.

                “Me and Scott have a TV show where we stay over at random strangers’ houses and get up to hijinks,” Stiles replied smoothly. Derek snorted, but continued to stare until Stiles chewed his lip and pressed on. “No, uh, it’s sort of embarrassing.”

                “Try me.”

                “I’m on a post-breakup downward spiral and Scott took me on a roadtrip to get over it.”

                At that, Derek’s eyebrows flew to the top of his head and he almost looked like he was holding back laughter. “Really?”

                “Really.”

                “Jesus,” Derek dropped his chin onto the table, eyes half closed. “How long have you been travelling?”

                “Only about twelve hours,” Stiles shrugged.

                “Short road trip.”

                “Well I didn’t exactly account for Scott having an asthma attack, but this area seems nice enough, I guess.”

                “You guess.”

                Stiles smiled. “Convince me of the sheer awesome power of the amazing town of Wolf Paw, Mr. Hale.”

                “Maybe tomorrow,” Derek replied softly, his eyes now closed, chin resting on his arms, crossed on the table. “There’s a spare room down the hall if you don’t want to wake Scott. It, uh, has the name Laura on it. Can’t miss it.”

                “Laura?” Stiles frowned. “I thought your sister’s name was Cora.”

                “I had two.”

                Stiles chewed his lip at the word _had_ , and his hand automatically reached out to brush Derek’s arm in comfort. For a moment, Derek didn’t move, but before Stiles had the chance to wish him goodnight, he was gone, footsteps padding down the hallway followed by the soft sound of a door opening and closing.

                “Derek Hale,” Stiles whispered softly, and if he stayed awake for a while longer, the name playing across his lips like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit, well, his sleep schedule _had_ been messed up. 


	3. Stiles Stilinski Meets The Love of (Scott's) Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't fair, really, that everyone else got normal parents while he was stuck with the one who loomed over Stiles in his third year of college holding a box of condoms in one hand and a book called, 'The Downsides of Pre-Marital Sex' in the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor update: Stiles and Scott are now graduating college, not high school. That makes them 23, Derek 29 (ish), the firefighters somewhere in between, and Cora 21. Phew.

“Alright, top ten songs _ever_.” Scott was chewing his cheerios open-mouthed and Stiles was pulling faces at him, trying to tell himself that his friend was not as gross as he thought.

                “Dude, way too hard,” Stiles shook his head. “Top twenty five I may be able to do.”

                “Nope, _ten.”_

“All songs? Can I narrow it down to a specific decade?”

                “Nope.”

                “Jesus. Okay.” Stiles leaned back, eyeing Scott carefully. “I don’t even know where to start, man.”

                “Okay, but you have to tell me by the time we leave,” Scott shoveled a new spoonful of cereal into his mouth and chewed cheerily. Stiles gagged into his bowl.

                The sound of footsteps moving down the hallway alerted Stiles to the appearance of Derek. He turned and flashed a smile at him. Derek just nodded, yawning and opening various cupboards, searching for a bowl and spoon. He swiped the box of cereal that Scott had been reading and left, probably to go steal Scott’s spot on the couch as well.

                “I was reading that!” Scott cried down the hallway.

                “You’re _my_ guests!”

                “You’re _our_ host!”

                There was no reply from down the hallway and Scott turned back to Stiles, shaking his head. “I will never forgive you if you rebound with him.”

                “Who said I was going to?”

                “Well, given your track record, his name is proof enough.”

                “Low blow, man. Low blow.”

                Scott shrugged, looking up at Stiles carefully. “That’s why we’re doing this though, man. I don’t like seeing you get your heart broken.”

                “Trust me,” Stiles grumbled, scooping up a spoonful of disintegrating cereal. “I don’t like it either.”

*

                Stiles stepped out the front door, stretching and looking around. Now that they were on the other side of an emergency, Stiles had time to take in his surroundings. They were on a small road of medium sized cookie cutter houses, with a thick pine forest beyond them. Stiles rolled his shoulders and let out a quiet hiss as Derek brushed past him, practically pushing him off the step.

                “Sorry, were you doing something?” Derek looked vaguely puzzled and Stiles shook his head and was about to answer when he felt something in his pocket buzz. With a loud swear, Stiles grabbed at his phone, answering it immediately and plugging his other ear, shaking his head at Derek wildly.

                “Hey dad!” He cried, pulling terrified faces at Derek, who only looked amused. “Hey! How are y—yeah, Scott and I are still in Wolf Paw. Yeah, we’re still at his house. Yeah, he’s a firefighter, Erica said. Erica. She’s the girl who helped Scott. I don’t know if I trust her, I’ve known her for half a day! What? Uh... sure, he’s right here.” Stiles looked up apologetically, handing his phone to Derek. “Sorry, my dad wants to talk to you.”

                Derek looked wary for a moment, but reached out slowly and took the phone with a curt, _‘Hello?’_

                Stiles sighed, watching Derek turn away, choosing to sit on the stoop. He realised it was probably good parenting that his dad had called and checked in with Derek, if he was to take in Stiles’ dating track record and the fact that a random guy had let his son sleep over. Still, Stiles couldn’t help but wonder vaguely if his dad would have been this protective had his mom been around. But with a scuff of his shoe and a questioning look towards Derek, who gave him a faltering smile, Stiles decided he wouldn’t open that particular can of worms.

                Stiles craned his neck to hear the conversation taking place, but couldn’t get much more than, _“—tiles”,_ and _“Yes, sir”_. He leaned back deciding he didn’t really care. For a moment, Stiles entertained the idea that it was all an elaborate get back together scheme by his Derek, but put a stop to that when Wolf Derek ended the call, looking weary as he handed the phone to Stiles.

                “He said to watch out for yourself. Not everyone is who they seem to be.” Derek sat down beside Stiles and let out a sigh, propping his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his hands.

                “The hell does that mean?” Stiles asked, staring at the phone.

                “Not a clue.”

                “He say anything to you?”

                “Just to not take advantage of your, how did he put it? _Fragile state_.”

                “Ugh,” Stiles dropped his head into his hands as Derek let out a soft chuckle. “I’m not _fragile_.”

                “You look pretty fragile to me.”

                “He’s paying you, he must be, I swear to god.”

                Derek shook his head with a smile and glanced at his watch, a small band that looked weirdly familiar to Stiles for some reason. “I have to go to the station, sorry.” Derek paused, looking at Stiles. “You gonna be okay?”

                “Me? I’m fine.” Stiles waved Derek off, staring up at the sky. “Go save lives, firefighter.”

                Derek snorted, standing up. “We haven’t had a big fire in two years.”

                “I’ll cross my fingers,” Stiles flashed him a parting smile and Derek grinned back, about to leave when Stiles reached out, grabbing his arm. “Wait. I want to thank you for letting us stay over. To be quite honest, I’m not really sure why you’re doing it, but it’s really nice of you, so thanks.”

                “Always happy to help,” Derek replied, and left, leaving Stiles to continue staring at the sky, puzzling over reasons why people always ended up leaving.

*

                In the end, Stiles and Scott went back to the convenience store, only to be greeted by a pale boy with curly hair and a girl with long, dark brown hair who was turned away from them, talking to the boy behind the register.

                “Where’s Erica?” Stiles asked, ambling into the store and smiling vaguely at the pair leaning over the counter.

                “How do you know Erica?” The boy asked, frowning at Stiles. “Who are you?”

                “Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles smiled, reaching out his hand for a shake, which was returned, if somewhat suspiciously.

                “Isaac. Isaac Lahey.” Isaac waved his hand towards the girl, who twisted around and smiled at Stiles and Scott. “And this is Allison Argent.”

                “Hey,” Stiles shook her hand, nodding pleasantly at both of them. He had always hated introductions. “Now where did you say Erica wa—”

“ _Hi_ ,” Scott cut in, hand snaking in front of Stiles, shaking Allison’s. She raised her eyebrows but smiled back at him, dropping his hand when Scott didn’t let go. Stiles almost let out a groan.

“Sorry,” Stiles smiled harshly at Isaac through gritted teeth. “Where’s Erica?”

“Dunno, might be at the station? She’s a firefighter like the rest of us, this store just to help us get more profits.” Isaac pointed a thumb towards Allison. “It’s actually Allison’s dad’s. He gives the department half his earnings.”

“Your dad does that? That’s so nice of him,” Scott grinned at Allison and Stiles kicked back at his shin, trying to maintain an air of dignity.

“So you guys are all firefighters? Do you work with, uh... Hale?”

“Yeah, you know Derek?” Isaac seemed mildly impressed. “He’s pretty grouchy towards new people. How’d you worm your way in?”

“Found a secret door, I guess,” Stiles replied, shrugging. “Scott and I are actually staying at his place if you can believe it.”

“I’ve never actually been inside,” Isaac sighed, almost dreamily. “Erica says it’s beautiful.”

“Oh, Erica and Derek, are they...?”

“No, no way,” Isaac waved his arms wildly, his eyes flaring. “God, no. No, Erica’s... Erica, and Derek’s antisocial. Or, at least, doesn’t play well with others. They’re just really close and nobody can really tell why.”

“Ah,” Stiles glanced around and realised with a quiet, strangled cry that Scott had somehow wrangled Allison away from the counter and was now _engaging her in conversation, abort, **abort**._

“Scotty! We should probably be heading back home, shouldn’t we?” Stiles gave Scott a look, disguised as a smile, and Scott flashed him an angry look in return.

“It’s not like Derek’s our babysitter, Stiles, and we don’t have anything to do back at the house.”

“Then maybe we should continue our trip? We’ve only gone twelve hours or so, and I think that—”

“Trip?” Isaac looked intrigued, and Stiles felt a rush of pity for him. A firefighter playing cashier was sort of pathetic, no matter the fact that he was getting half the profits.

“Yeah, Scott and I are on a sort of road trip. I guess it’s on pause for right now, though, but we hope to resume it as soon as possible.”

“Why so soon? You can’t have seen any of Wolf Paw yet!” Allison looked cheery at the idea of Scott and Stiles seeing the many thousands of attractions that Wolf Paw had in store, and it was so similar to Scott’s look that Stiles relented.

“Yeah, I mean, I guess we could stay for a bit longer...”

“Great!” Allison beamed at Scott and gave Stiles a quick grin, turning towards the door. “There’s this amazing old church on Main Street that has some gorgeous architecture. You guys should come see it!”

Stiles couldn’t think of something he’d like to see _less_ , and just as he said a polite, “No, thank you,” Scott cut in with a, “Yeah, definitely!”

Stiles wondered vaguely if looks could actually kill, and just as he was about to test it, Isaac seemed to sense his anger and cut in smoothly, “You know, I could just take Stiles to see the station. It’s not too boring and we have wifi.”

Allison shrugged, looking at Scott. “I’m game if you are,” She said, brightly.

“I—yeah, I’m game, too!” Scott’s smile was almost delirious as he followed her out the door.

“Ten bucks says they’re sleeping together in three days or less.” Isaac said, dryly.

“I say between four to fourteen days. My man Scott is nothing if not horribly afraid of women. Once, a girl asked him out and he was mute for an entire day.” Stiles shook his head, remembering. “He had to write his answer on a piece of paper.”

“Did they end up going out?”

“One date and they didn’t even kiss,” Stiles shrugged, rapping his knuckles on the counter. “Now, what’s this about fire station wifi?”


	4. Stiles Stilinski Takes One Step Forward (And Two Steps Back)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles figured that, with his luck, now that he knew an entire station of firefighters, he would probably end up burning to death.

_The Beginning_

Stiles loved Dereks. He loved how different they were from each other. He loved repeating the name to himself as he fell asleep, the word losing meaning and becoming a jumble of syllables that lulled him into slumber. He loved how they always seemed to love him.

The first Derek that Stiles had met had been in preschool, a boy who Stiles had not dated, but had become fast friends with. He and Stiles had been inseparable from day one, and Stiles still looked back on those days with fondness. Whenever he was getting over a recent breakup, he’d reflect back to that time. Sometimes bitterly, as if _that_ Derek had somehow ruined all other Dereks for him, and sometimes sadly, wondering what had happened to him and if they met up again, if they’d be friends. Stiles liked to think so.

The second Derek he’d known had been his neighbour and older than him. Stiles remembered meeting that Derek like it was yesterday. They had just moved from their apartment to an actual house, and Stiles, confused, had immediately gone outside and called for Derek. In the end, Stiles had found him; he had just been a different person than the one Stiles had been looking for. Nevertheless, Stiles had clung to Neighbour Derek, also known as The Derek Who Never Was, an affectionate name given drunkenly to him when Stiles had told Scott the story.

“He was like,” Stiles had waved his hands animatedly. “A great guy.”

But Derek had moved away before Stiles had gotten a chance to know him, and even now, when he reflected on it, something small tugged at his chest.

That Derek had been the beginning of the Dereks, and with seventeen following after him, Stiles was pretty sure that he deserved some kind of reward or recognition for having his heart consecutively broken by so many people with the same name.

But he didn’t get recognised, and his talent for attracting and then repelling Dereks was lost to the wind.

*

It pained Stiles to see how beautiful the fire station was. Really, it was two stories tall and composed of neat, red bricks, the sign out front pristine in its lettering, “WOLF PAW FIRE STATION”. The lawn was a perfectly mowed carpet of green grass, with neat lines of flowers running the perimeter of the building. Stiles wondered if he could wheedle the gardener into coming back to Beacon Hills with him.

“Not gonna lie to you, man, that’s a gorgeous building.”

“Yeah I love the architecture of the whole thing,” Isaac replied. Stiles snorted and made his way inside.

The room was mostly bare, with brick walls, a row of wooden chairs, and a large desk out front, where a woman about Stiles’ age sat, long red hair tumbling down her back as she bent over the newspaper.

“Is that the Times Crossword?” Stiles asked, squawking when he saw the many spaces filled in. “Are you _finished_?”

“Like it’s _hard_ ,” The woman looked up and Stiles fidgeted with his shirt as the girl stared at him, a look of mild disgust and interest decorating her face. “You new here or something?”

“Staying over at Derek’s,” Isaac put in as Stiles wondered how it was that people’s first impressions of him were always bad.

“Oh, you’re Stiles. Okay, well, he’s not doing anything right now, not that he ever is. Go on back.” She hit a button and there was a loud buzzing as a door swung open behind her.

“Thanks, Lydia,” Isaac called back and Stiles echoed his words, if somewhat more bitterly, and followed Isaac in.

The moment Stiles walked in, he resolved to become a firefighter. The room looked comfortable, with three couches all surrounding an enormous TV and various people lying haphazardly over the couches, watching what looked like—

“Is that Leprechaun again?” Stiles frowned, and as one of the people turned towards him, he brightened. “Erica!”

“Hey Stiles,” She smiled at him lazily, looking like she had just woken up and glanced at the screen. “Yeah, Leprechaun Six. Last one, unfortunately.”

The man on the next couch over snorted, head lolling back as he looked at Stiles upside down. “Derek’s new housemate?”

“Um, yes? I guess so?” Stiles reached out his hand in greeting and the man shook it with a wide, dark hand.  “Stiles. Uh, Stiles Stilinski.”

“What kind of a parent sticks you with a name like that?” The only other guy there, blond and angry-looking, pulled a face as he turned towards Stiles.

“Well, my real first name is sort of ... Polish.”

“So you gave yourself a new one?”

“More or less.” Stiles ducked his head. Isaac had left his side and collapsed beside the blond.

“Stiles, this guy beside me is Jackson Whittemore. Over there on those couches are Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd—”

                “ _Just_ Boyd, thanks.”

                “Yeah, whatever. Derek and Danny are probably in the weight room, and you just met Lydia.” Isaac grabbed his remote, turning the volume up to eardrum-shattering level.

                “Is she the secretary or something...?” Stiles asked hesitantly, settling down beside Boyd on the couch. The piercing silence caused him to almost flinch as he looked around at all their faces. “Okay, not a secretary.”

                “She’s part of the team too, she just got into trouble with Chris and has to do paperwork duty,” Isaac jerked his thumb back. “Chris is Allie’s dad. She’s one of us too, but she has the day off.”

                “Not that there’s much of a difference between day on and day off around here,” Erica snorted, curling up into a tight ball, eyes drooping heavily, even as the leprechaun tried to impale a character. “We haven’t had even so much as a stove fire in two weeks.”

                “It makes life dull, but it’s a good thing,” Boyd shrugged, looking over at Erica. “Safety first, right?”

                “Can’t I wish for a nice, big house fire without you lecturing me, Boyd? Geez, you’re as bad as Derek.”

                “Nobody’s as bad as Derek,” Jackson shuddered, and Stiles smiled at the vague feeling of comfort that washed over him as the group shot playful banters around him.

                “Amen to that,” A voice came from behind them, and Stiles turned around to see someone who must have been Danny, trailed by Derek. Both of them looked sweaty and frankly, a bit gross, but Stiles grinned up at them cheerfully, reaching out to shake Danny’s hand.

                “Stiles Stilinski,” He greeted, and Danny shook his hand.

                “Danny Mahealani,” He replied. “Did any of these lazy asses get you something to eat?”

                “Um,” was all Stiles had the heart to say, not wanting to get on their bad sides so quickly. Everyone on the couches let out indignant cries, and Derek just dropped down beside Stiles, looking vaguely disgusted by the movie.

                “I’ll take that as a no. Anyone else want food?” Danny looked around as everyone’s hands shot in the air. “Great, get it yourselves. Stiles, you good with beans?”

                “All food is good food, Danny,” Stiles replied, sagely. Derek snorted.

                “It’s called the Beanery for a reason. Beans are not good food.” The rest of the group seemed to be in agreement. In a lower voice, Derek spoke to Stiles. “So how’s the post-breakup roadtrip going?”

                “It’s going,” Stiles replied softly. “I’ve done this so many times before that I basically have a rhythm down. It’s just the memories that screw it all up.”

                “So many times before?”

                “I have a track record,” Stiles said, darkly. He wasn’t so sure that telling Derek, a guy who was wonderful in the fact that he was providing a home for Stiles, would be a good idea. Especially because his name was _Derek._

                “If I were a police officer I’d probably write that down as suspicious.”

                “Good thing you’re not,” Stiles replied, just as Danny returned, with a bowl of beans and hot dogs and a bottle of beer. “Ah, my saving grace. Thanks, Danny.”

                “No problem, Stilinski.” Danny replied easily, dropping down beside Erica. “By the way, anyone know where Allison is?”

                “I’m afraid I’m to blame for her disappearance,” Stiles replied, twisting the cap off the bottle. He hated the ones you had to take off with a bottle opener. They always seemed to explode in his face. “I unwittingly introduced her to my friend Scott, who has the unfortunate ability of being able to love women and yet not talk to them. She’s showing him some architecture right now. I don’t even know if Scott knows the word architecture.” He added, wonderingly.

                “Ah, well, Allie can hold her own against a mime, I’m sure.” Stiles contemplated the group’s attitude towards Allison, and how high she was in their regard. It was nice, he thought, that Scott had picked out someone who seemed even cooler than he was.

                “And isn’t that all you look for in a person?”

                They stayed like that for a few more hours, wasting away the time watching various movies that it was obvious all of them had seen. At one point, Lydia joined them, shoving Jackson and Isaac over until she got half the couch, and then apologizing by draping an enormous blanket over the three of them. It was all so... cozy. Stiles had spent the last four years of his life at university, and he had loved it, don’t get him wrong, but it didn’t have the same feel as the firehouse seemed to. Halfway through _The Princess Bride_ , it hit Stiles that this place was just a home away from home for the group. Wrapping himself tighter in one of the blankets that Lydia had thrown at the other couches, he wondered if he’d ever find that same thing. He wondered if he’d ever be able to feel truly at home without _his_ Derek.

*

                Derek drove Stiles back to his house after the movie ended, telling him that it was stupid to walk, _yes, Stiles, even if it’s only a five minute walk_. Stiles had relented purely because Derek had promised that the sooner Stiles got back, the sooner he could help Derek order pizza. It was slowly becoming apparent that Derek didn’t cook. Ever.

                Scott still hadn’t returned by the time the pizza was delivered, and Stiles was just about to call him when he burst into the house, surprising Stiles and Derek and their aggressive Netflix watching.

                “Stiles,” Scott’s eyes were wide when he saw him, and Stiles just ticked an eyebrow up, the slice of pizza halfway to his mouth. “I’m in love.”

                “Shit,” Stiles said, and that was really the entire summary.

*

                It took Stiles too long to make Scott sit down and explain what was going on, and by the time he had gotten Scott to concentrate, Derek had left, and the little, niggling question he’d wanted to ask him was thrown out the window.

                “You’re not in love, Scott,” Stiles said, for the billionth time. “I feel like I’m the best expert in the area, unless Derek is more amorous than we think.”

                “Stiles, I think I know what I’m feeling,” Scott replied, sounding a little bit annoyed, and Stiles immediately eased off. He couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted to do less than fight with Scott, and even now he felt guilty as he saw the look on Scott’s face.

                “Sorry, man. I guess I’m just feeling bitter,” Stiles shook his head with a laugh. “Me, being bitter. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

                “Geez, Stiles, I’m sorry,” Scott pulled Stiles into a quick, one-armed hug and released him, watching Stiles. “Look, I know it’s been tough on you, and I know I probably haven’t done nearly enough to make you feel better, but you can make it through this, man. I believe in you.”

                Stiles smiled shakily back at his friend, ducking his head. “Great pep talk, Scott. Do you do parties?” Scott shoved him, and Stiles just smiled back, feeling a wave of gratefulness wash over him. “And, uh, congratulations with Allison, I’ve heard she’s a great person.”

                “She _is_ , Stiles, oh my god, you wouldn’t even believe...”

                Stiles leaned against the back of the couch, watching Scott and letting his excited voice lull him into a feeling of peace.

*

                It was late when Stiles found himself in his pajamas, making his way to Derek’s room. A constant stream of nervousness murmured through his head that grew louder with each step he took, but his dad had always said that persistence was one of his main qualities. That, and being unable to shut up.

                And so Stiles found himself knocking softly on Derek’s door, thin beams of light emanating from the cracks telling him that Derek was still awake.

                “Come in,” A voice called from inside, and Stiles pushed on the door, poking his head in.

                “Hey,” Stiles said softly, and paused to look around the room. It was homier than he expected, a far cry from the bare walls that littered the rest of the house. There were three paintings on the walls, one of them obviously done by a child, with a sun in the corner and a smear of blue across the top of the page, the same in green across the bottom. There were multiple people in the picture, both women and men, all of them happy and holding hands in front of a tree and a large, red house in the background. Beside that painting was another, better but still obviously done by a kid, with only three people in the painting; a woman, a man, and a little girl. It didn’t take too much of a leap for Stiles to guess that the man was Derek, the little girl Cora, and the last woman... Laura. Stiles’ gaze drew to the last painting, on the wall not beside Derek’s bed, but across from it, so that he’d always see it when he woke up. It was done by a professional, a watercolour of what looked like a teenage Derek, grinning beside a girl whose long, dark hair seemed to shroud her face.

                “That was done by Laura,” Derek’s voice was careful, as if he was afraid that saying her name would cause the painting to disappear. “She did it before she died.”

                “You’re so young,” Stiles whispered, and Derek closed the laptop that he’d been typing away on when Stiles had walked in. Stiles wondered if he should go, but Derek seemed to pick up on that train of thought and looked up at him.

                “You were going to ask me about her, right?” He asked, and Stiles could only duck his head in reply. Derek nodded slowly and motioned towards the foot of the bed for Stiles to sit. He did, but hesitantly, scared that Derek would bolt or maim him for bringing up the past.

                “We used to live pretty far away, in a small town. There were a lot of us and Laura and I were the middle kids. Cora was the youngest of us all, actually. Anyway, we lived there my whole life, until I was just starting grade nine. That was when there was a... fire. They never found out what caused it, but the only ones who got out were Laura, Cora, my uncle Peter, and me.” Derek took in a long, shuddering breath, and Stiles reached out absentmindedly, gripping his arm and running his thumb carefully over Derek’s skin. “U-Uncle Peter took care of us for a while, but I think the three of us reminded him too much of our family. He began to have problems and one day he left. Took some expensive jewellery and just ran. After that, Laura went off to university. My parents had put away _a lot_ of money for all of our schooling. She went to New York. She wanted to become a _chef._ ”

                There was a pause, and Derek was fisting the blanket so hard that Stiles was afraid he would rip it. Instead, he pressed on, using the same monotone voice that meant he needed to get the story out, but didn’t want to. “Cora and I were both home when we got the phone call. I was twenty one, Cora was fourteen, and Laura had just died in a car crash at twenty two.” Derek’s eyes were fastened to a spot on his blanket, and Stiles pressed harder against his arm, somehow trying to lessen the pain. “I was working part time already, but I knew I had to get another job, and so I... became a firefighter.”

                “And here we are,” Stiles murmured.

                “Here we are,” Derek replied. With a soft huff of laughter, he shook his head in disbelief. “I think that’s more than I’ve talked in a fucking year.”

                “I feel blessed,” Stiles replied, chewing his lip. “Actually, I sort of do. Thank you, for telling me all that. I... my mom died when I was younger and it was really hard on me. My dad, too. I think he still sees some of my mom in me, and I’m pretty sure he holds it against me.”

                “Believe me, Stiles, there’s no way he could hold it against you. He probably loves you all the more for it.”

                Stiles rolled his shoulders in response, pulling his hand away from Derek and rubbing his own arms. “I think I might sleep, actually,” He said, and felt bad about it.

                “Yeah?”

                Stiles nodded, and stood slowly, a thick feeling of protectiveness wrapping around him. “I think so. Thanks, again, for telling me. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.”

                “It’s fine. I haven’t told anyone lately,” Derek glanced up at him, looking tired, as if he was older than he seemed. “Needed a new audience.”

                “Well, I’m here all week,” Stiles smiled, and turned, leaving the room to the soft sound of Derek’s voice, saying, ‘ _I hope so_ ,’

                Stiles slept fitfully that night, with dreams of meeting a young Derek, of playing with him, with his siblings. Of growing up with him and loving him, and when Stiles awoke, he awoke to a feeling of hollow emptiness that hurt him more than any breakup ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the Hale fire wasn't caused by a jealous ex of Derek's, because with the timing of it all, I think he'd be too young. Also I apologize for the slow update, I meant to post this on Christmas!  
> (P.S, my Tumblr URL is kindlychildofthewest.tumblr.com if you want to come visit me)


	5. Stiles Stilinski Hates Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wondered if he could get a visa to another country if he just wished hard enough.

Stiles was gripping his phone too tightly when Scott entered the kitchen.

                “Uh oh,” Scott said, staring at Stiles.

"Do you think he’s waiting for me?" Stiles asked, studying the phone with painful care.

“Derek? No, dumpees never call, dude. It’s like, _the law_.”

“But this is different, Scott,” Stiles wheedled. “What if he’s too afraid to ask me to get back together because he thinks I’ll say no? I should call him.”

“No, Stiles, remember what I told you before.”

Stiles let out an exasperated sigh, but relented, parroting Scott’s words back at him. “Derek broke up with me. He doesn’t want to get back together. Don’t be an idiot, Stiles.”

“Exactly. Cheerios?”

“But Scott, you don’t understand! What if this whole thing is just a big misunderstanding?”

“Stiles,” Scott looked up at him from his fresh bowl of cereal. “It isn’t.”

Stiles relented for a few seconds, retreating back and continuing to analyze his phone, as if Derek had planted something on it that would explain to Stiles why he hadn’t called.

“I’m gonna do it,” Stiles slid back his chair, staring at his phone with the intensity of a dying man.

                "What?" Scott looked up from his cereal, spoon sticking out of his mouth.

                "I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna call him." And then Stiles was rushing out of the door, long strides leading him to the Jeep. He was already starting the engine as Scott burst through Derek's door, racing down the steps just as Stiles drove off.

                It felt freeing.

                He parked nearby, in a grassy lot on the outskirts of town. As Stiles scrolled through his contacts, he saw, with a pang, his dad's number and resolved to call after this.

                Stiles had three Derek's in his contact list. One was Surfer Derek, the number never deleted for obvious reasons, another, Cool Derek, who sometimes called herself Danica, whom Stiles had kissed once and then talked to for twelve hours at a small diner downtown. He still called for advice and when Scott was being a dick. The last was The Derek Who Never Was, whose number he'd been given by his dad. With a breath, Stiles tapped _his_ name and held the phone up to his ear.

                "Hello?"

                "Shit," Stiles blurted, and pulled the phone away, seeing the name, "Derek TDWNW" on his phone. Not Surfer Derek.

                "Thanks," The voice on the other end sounded sarcastic and Stiles grappled with it, suddenly having to do damage control.

                "No, sorry, shit, um..." Stiles sighed heavily, leaning back against his chair. Why did this have to happen to him? "Sorry, it was a wrong number."

                "Sounds like an important call."

                "Yeah," Stiles closed his eyes, the sadness welling up in him again. Would it ever go away? "Yeah, it was pretty important."

                "Don't let me keep you, then."

                "Yeah, um, sorry. I'll go, sorry for bothering you."

                He ended the call, dropping the phone into his lap and tugging his knees up so he could wrap his arms around them. Stiles hated this part. The 'Should I or Shouldn't I?' feeling scared him and he didn't like feeling unsure about anything. He wondered if Derek would call him. He wondered if Scott was right. He wondered how _he_ had a right to feel so sad when Wolf Derek had gone through so much himself. Admittedly, Stiles hated himself a little bit at that moment.

                His phone rang. Without bothering to check the call display, Stiles picked up, wondering if Scott had broken down like Stiles had suspected and was calling to tell him that _of all the ideas he’d had, this would be the worst_.

                "Stiles?"

                Stiles froze. And checked the call display. "... Derek? Why are you calling me back?"

                "Why aren't you in the middle of your important call?"

                "Touché, brother. But the whole thing is a bit of a longer story than you'd like, I think."

                "Please," Derek snorted. "I have all the time in the world."

                "Fine, but you aren't allowed to make any comments about anything I tell you, alright?"

                "Just tell the damn story."

                "Calm down," Stiles cracked a grin and adjusted his seat, leaning back and stretching out his legs. "So like, you left in grade three, right? Well, um, completely non-related to that, I also realized that I was gay around then. I think my mom always knew, because I'm pretty sure she told my dad."

                "Yeah, moms know that kind of thing," Derek's voice was soft on the other end and Stiles didn't ask why.

                "Anyway, so I was gay and totally adorable and going into grade four. Great mixture, right?” Stiles didn’t wait for Derek to cut him off with a comment, instead charging ahead with his story. “And so it just happened that, in my class there was this boy that I totally had the hugest crush on. I mean, he was cute and funny and I just fell head over heels for him."

                "And you dated him until this year, broke up, and now you want to get back together?"

                "No, I—Actually, yeah. Sort of."

                "How can you sort of—?!"

                "Jeez, Derek, shut up and listen," Stiles laughed, reclining more and letting out a sigh. "So one day I told my friend that I had a crush on this guy, and the next day he comes up to me and is like, 'so I heard you like me' and of course, what do I do but deny, deny, deny. But he just saw right through me and he sat down and we talked to each other and at the end of it he _kissed_ me, Derek. Like, that actually happened in my lifetime! But we broke up about two weeks later because that friend I mentioned, the scumbag, had a crush on him too and so we were over and they ended up going out. The end."

                "And how does the sort of fit in?" Derek prompted.

                "I've dated seventeen people, Derek. And... all of them named Derek."

                "Oh. _Oh_."

                "Yeah," Stiles paused, suddenly wondering if he'd just over shared way too much. "Shit, um, I'm really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. But to answer your question, I'm on a post break up road trip with my friend Scott and thought it would be a good idea to call my most recent Derek. Instead, I accidentally called you. Also, you can hang up whenever you want to, I won't be offended."

                "No, no, it's... fine." There was silence for a long time, and Stiles wondered why he was sharing such a big—and admittedly embarrassing—part of his life with someone who was basically a stranger. He wondered if the anonymity was getting to him in a weird way and was about to try and diffuse the tension when Derek spoke. "Why did you never tell me?"

                "Really? You want a fourth grader to call you up and tell you he has a crush on a guy that just happens to have your name?"

                "No, I mean now. Why wouldn't you tell me now?"

                "Dude, road trip. I don’t even know where you guys moved off to, but still. You don't just knock on someone's door and tell them you dated seventeen people who coincidentally have your name and also could I have some food please?"

                "Wait, Stiles, you—" There was silence on the other end for a moment, and then Derek laughed softly. "Nevermind. Call me if you're in the area, I suppose. I think your dad still has the address. It'd... be really good to see you."

                "Nah, I'd probably overstay my welcome, dude."

                "Probably. Bye, Stiles. It was nice talking to you."

                "Bye, Derek."

                There was a laugh on the other end, but Derek had hung up before Stiles had a chance to mention it. He tossed the phone into the passenger seat and drove back to Wolf Derek's house, pushing open the door and immediately going to hug Scott, who hadn't moved from his spot at the table.

                "Never change, man."

                "Stiles!” Scott pushed him off, glaring angrily. “I thought you'd been abducted or something! I told Derek to buy milk cartons to see if you were on them!"

                Stiles sat down grinning, but at the mention of Derek he pulled out his phone, looking down at this contacts list.

                He'd forgotten to call.

*

                He needed to call. Unfortunately, right as Stiles had managed to escape Scott, his phone buzzed and he answered, frowning at the voice on the other end.

                “Stiles, please tell me you’re not still in Wolf Paw.”

                “Dad, hey! And yeah, Scott and I have taken up semi-permanent residence here. What’s up with you?”

                “Stiles, I get that you’re feeling down, but I’m just not quite sure how I feel about you sleeping over at the house of a... _Derek_.” John said the name like it was a curse, and it sort of was, considering what Dereks seemed to do to Stiles.

                “Dad, it’s fine, he’s a lot older than me.”

                “Stiles, I don’t want to hear about your preferences.” His dad sounded embarrassed, and Stiles sort of wanted to jamb a butter knife into his own chest.

                “Dad!” Stiles fisted his shirt and was glad he had gone out back, where he could yell in peace. “It’s not like that, seriously! I barely know the guy, he’s just putting us up because... well, I don’t actually know why, but it’s not like there’s a sinister plan behind it to bed me!”

                “You can’t know that, Stiles,” His dad replied, sagely. Stiles wondered if he could kill a man over the phone.

                “I _do_ know that, dad. Please, I just need some time away from home. We won’t be gone too long, I promise. I—I just think that this is going to help me clear my head.”

                His dad sighed on the other end, and Stiles could practically see him running his hands through his graying hair. For a moment, Stiles felt bad. He knew his dad was doing all of this for him, but _still_. Couldn’t he see that Stiles was a grown-up now? An actual, real, alcohol-drinking, legal voting age, grown-up? “I know, Stiles. I just hope you find what you need up there.”

                “I hope so too, dad,” Stiles whispered, feeling touched. “I don’t mean to stress you out, you know. It just sort of happens.”

                “Isn’t that what you said when you came home from that party drunk when you were in high school?”

                “... So maybe a lot of things in my life just sort of happen.”

                John laughed on the other end, and Stiles could feel his tension ebbing away. “I love you, Stiles,” His dad said, and Stiles could hear the laugh. “Have a good time with Scott.”

                “I will, dad. I’ll even get you a novelty pen.”

                “Bye, Stiles.”

                “Bye dad.”

                He stuffed the phone in his pocket, desperation to call Derek suddenly making him feel strangely guilty. So Stiles went back inside, passing Wolf Derek with a nod in lieu of a real greeting, and making a beeline for his room.

                Laura’s room was sparse, to say the least. Of all the rooms in Derek’s house, this one was probably the least decorated, and that was saying something. With only a desk, chair, bed, and empty closet, Stiles found himself idly tracing the striped wallpaper pattern, drawing imaginary shapes and writing invisible words upon the walls. He’d done this for real when he was nine, taking a pencil to his walls in a big way. His mom had washed off the walls, but left a select few drawings behind, the ones in the dark corners and around Stiles’ bed. _‘Where your dad won’t see them,’_ she’d said. Of course, his dad had noticed, but he’d never mentioned them.

                Stiles had gone over them in permanent marker when she had died.

                Now though, the idea of it stung so much that he needed something more. _Someone_ more. The guilt pooled in his chest and rose, filling his lungs and stifling his breath, but Stiles slowly and methodically punched in the numbers, holding the phone to his ear with a tremor.

                “Hi, this is Derek, and if you’re hearing this, I’m— _Stiles, what are you doing?_ —busy. I— _No, seriously?_ —will try and get back to you as soon as I— _is that what I think it—_ ”

                Stiles clenched his teeth together, eyes stinging with effort as the tone sounded in his ear. He spoke, but in a rush, like he had to get the words out and soon. “Der, it’s me. I know you may not want to hear from me, but god, I just want to hear from you. I’m in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people and pine trees, and I feel so fucking homesick for your voice. I just—remember our first date? When you said we were going to the movies and you took me to your goddamn backyard instead and just told me to watch? I thought you were crazy or something. But I see what you meant, now. I see it all, and I just love you so much, Der. I just love you so much.”

*

_The Beginning of the End_

                Stiles grinned up at Derek, kicking at his leg from below the formica table. “So? How’s it feel to be a real adult now?”

                “It’s just the bees knees,” Derek replied, with a snort, running his hands through blond hair. “What about you? Are you going back to Beacon Hills this summer?”

                “Probably,” Stiles did a little one shoulder shrug. “I have to remind Scott that I’m still alive. You’re sure you want to stay here? You _can_ always stay over. My dad probably won’t mind too much.”

                “Nah, I like it here. I’ve poured four years of blood and sweat into this city, might as well pour two months more, right?” Derek grinned at Stiles and Stiles grinned back.

                “Alright, but you’ll visit me, right?” Stiles hooked a foot around the back of Derek’s leg, slurping at his milkshake, blinking owlishly at Derek.

                “Yeah, I... probably, work might be really busy.”

                Stiles frowned. “Hey, we’ve made it work this far, how much harder can two months be?”

                “Right,” Derek gave him a small smile, but Stiles noticed a strange, broken edge to it. He shrugged it off, deciding it was job jitters. His first day in his new job was tomorrow, and that was enough to freak anyone out, even the unflappable Derek Morgan.

                “C’mon, I’m done my drink,” Stiles slid off the chair, grabbing Derek’s hand and tugging him off his chair. “And I need _lots_ of help with my _packing_.”

                Derek smiled weakly, glancing back to check if he’d left anything behind. Stiles just pulled harder, until they were back in the dorms and sitting side by side, Derek whispering words that Stiles didn’t want to hear, that he didn’t think he even heard in the moment, but would haunt him long after.

*

                The caller ID had to be wrong. Or rather, Stiles didn’t want it to be wrong, but it was. Derek wouldn’t be calling him back, he _wouldn’t_.

                Not unless he had something important to say.

                Stiles answered the call with a shaky, “Hello?”

                “Stiles, hey. I saw you left me a message.”

                Stiles swore softly, falling back on his bed, screwing up his face to try and stop the wave of emotions that rolled over him, angry and persistent. “Yeah, I did.”

                “What did it say?” He prompted.

                “Are you tired?”

                “What?” Stiles could picture Derek frowning at that, mouth twitching downwards, almost comically low.

                “You sound tired. Have you been sleeping?”

                “Stiles...”

                “I was just asking,” Stiles pressed, softly.

                “Stiles, we broke up. You don’t need to baby me.”

                “Maybe I just want you to be okay, Derek, what about that?”

                “I don’t want to fight with you Stiles,” Derek whispered, and suddenly Stiles was broken.

                “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m hanging up now before I make even more of an idiot of myself. Bye, Der.”

                “No, Stiles, don’t do that.” Stiles paused, chewing his lip, waiting for Derek to say something. “I’m sorry about everything, okay? It probably wasn’t fair of me to spring all of this on you, but I just... it wasn’t going anywhere, Stiles.”

                “It could have.”

                “No, you were going back to Beacon Hills and I was staying near the university. Neither of us wanted to leave, and neither of us would have left willingly.”

                “You sound like you’ve thought about this.”

                “I have. You should too, Stiles. You deserve someone who would move across countries with you, not someone who’s too afraid to.”

                “Maybe I don’t want them. Maybe I want you instead.”

                “No you don’t, Stiles. You’ll find them, I know you will.”

                “I think I need to go. ”

                “Yeah, I probably should, too.”

                “Will you listen to the message?”

                “I—Maybe. If I have time. Bye Stiles.”

                “Goodbye... Derek.”

                And with the click of a phone, Stiles was alone again. He didn’t move, instead feeling nothing except the slow, dull ache behind his ribcage.


	6. Stiles Stilinski Vs. The End of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles related really heavily to the heroes in Greek mythology. Not Perseus or Hercules, but the unnamed ones who were chewed up and killed violently by monsters.

                “Sucks, man.” Scott was leaning against the railing on Derek’s porch, which attached to his living room and overlooked the forested backyard. He took a swig of beer and looked towards Stiles, who stood beside him, leaning against the rail as well, staring into the distance.

                “Very fucking true,” Stiles replied.

                “You gonna be okay?”

                “Dunno. We’ll see, I guess. Right now I think I’m just trying to enjoy the moment.”

                “That’s... good of you. Better than I’d be, probably.”

                “Keep me out of the kitchen though, there’s no telling how much damage I could do if I was near breakable stuff and fire.” Stiles added, the barest lilt of a smile touching the corners of his mouth.

                “Yeah, you’re gonna be fine,” Scott turned back towards the forest, and for a moment, all Stiles had to do was remind himself to breathe.

*

_The End of the Beginning_

                Stiles dated a lot of Dereks. Seventeen Dereks. And while most people consider dating to be the conventional sort, where you went out to the movies and to diners and drank malts out of glasses with two straws (okay, so maybe that was dating in the 70’s, but still), his definition was simpler.

                Dating was when you wanted to kiss someone and they didn’t let you.

                So maybe that was a bit too simple, and opened up a whole host of loopholes that gave Stiles a headache, but it was a basic idea that had stuck with him since grade four. And so Stiles maintained the fact that he had dated seventeen Dereks, beginning with Truck Derek and ending with Surfer Derek.

                The first Derek had been obsessed with trucks (hence the name), had dated Stiles two weeks in grade four, and then had broken up with him because Stiles’ friend Johnny had been much cuter, apparently. Stiles hadn’t met another Derek for an entire year, a streak that was broken in grade six, when he’d crushed from afar for eight months on Anime Derek, a tall-for-his-age Chinese boy who had told Stiles that he was nice and could draw well and had kissed him twice behind the portables before telling him that his parents would disprove. Stiles had felt broken for weeks after that.

                The summer between grades six and seven yielded two more Dereks, Boy Scout Derek, and Bookworm Derek, who Stiles ended up dating back to back, six days each. He didn’t kiss either of them, but had wanted to. A lot.

                Grade eight had brought New Kid Derek, a painfully attractive if cocky, boy who Stiles had the delight of showing around the school. Unfortunately, the short bit of anonymity disappeared for Derek, and Stiles had to watch as he slowly drew away from him, joining the popular group and leaving Stiles behind. Once, though, he pulled Stiles into a closed classroom, told him that he thought Stiles was cool, and kissed him, long and quietly and yes, okay, with a bit of tongue. The next day he called Stiles gay and Stiles realised then that maybe this Derek thing he had wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

                That didn’t stop him from going crazy in high school and chalking the number up to eleven. Grade nine gave him six months of two Dereks, one, Basketball Derek, the other Cosplay Derek, the two of them as different as North and South, but both equally beloved by Stiles. Grade ten gave him Hacker Derek, an incredibly smart boy whose relationship with Stiles began with a kiss and ended in a whirlwind of making out three days later, with him hacking Stiles’ Facebook profile and setting his status to ‘Single’ for him.

                Grades eleven and twelve were lacking in Dereks, with Stiles settling for drunken makeout sessions with boys that he knew had yellow, black, and red hair and were all named Derek (Dubbed Drunk Derek 1, 2, and 3).

                University gave him a chance to open up more, which he took advantage of in the form of Pillow Derek and Body Spray Derek. They had been for only a few short weeks apiece, followed by two more in freshman year, Canadian Derek and Senior Derek. The last was Cool Derek, who Stiles had met in a gay club (It was Scott’s idea!), kissed once because Stiles had been curious, and then had relegated Stiles to the status of friend.

                And then, of course, there had been Surfer Derek, and after him, Wolf Derek, who had slid into Stiles’ life so effortlessly, and the phone call from The Derek Who Never Was and Stiles had never felt more sick of the name Derek in his entire life.

*

                Stiles wasn’t sure if, after three days, you were supposed to feel so at home in a stranger’s house. Yet, there he was, eyes closed, curled up beneath blankets, basking in the warm light that filtered into Laura’s (his) room.

                So of course _someone_ ruined everything.

                “Get up.” The voice said, and Stiles wrinkled his nose at it in distaste.

                “No,” he mumbled, pulling the blankets higher over his head.

                “Stiles, I need to go to work and you’re coming with me.” Stiles blinked one blurry eye open and saw the vague form of Wolf Derek standing before him.  He closed his eye again.

                “Go away.”

                “Not without you. The others want to see you and you don’t know how to get there.”

                “Are you actually guilting me into getting out of bed before two in the afternoon?”

                “Maybe.”

                “Fuck you, it’s working,” Stiles rolled over, waving a lazy arm to get Derek to leave. “I’ll be up in like, thirty, just go away.”

                “Oh, the benefits of your staying here never cease,” Derek replied, leaving the room and pointedly slamming the door, rattling the room and making Stiles question this house’s infrastructure.

                Thirty minutes later, Stiles was clinging to anything he could as Derek shot down the dirt road that led from his house.

                “I’m not going that fast,” he grumbled, and all Stiles could do was given him a pointed look and try not to squeak as they went around the bend in the road.

                “Oh, you’re right, this is _definitely_ safe. You do know that you aren’t actually supposed to actively try and kill yourself with other people in the car?”

                “Maybe I’m not actively trying to kill _myself_.”

                “Oh, ha, _ha_ , we’ve got a real comedian over here. And to think that I thought you’d be good at driving, seeing as your job description is literally _to drive a truck and not kill people._ ”

                “If you don’t want to die, I suggest not giving me a running commentary.”

                “Can’t, man. I am a running commentary with a torso. Just you watch.”

                Derek muttered something less than pleasant under his breath, but before he could repeat himself, he frowned, rifling around in his pocket, and tossing his phone at Stiles.

                “Can you answer it? I’m _busy_.”

                “Yeah, busy killing us bo—Hey Erica!”

                “Stiles,” Erica sounded confused, and Stiles leaned back, glaring at Derek. “Where’s Derek?”

                “Busy, what can I do for you?”

                “...Oh, this is too good.”

                “What?” Stiles frowned, turning away from where Derek was pointing a rather rude gesture towards him, focussing instead of the way trees whizzed past.

                “Nothing! Anyway, Stiles, tell Derek that we have a job. Yay! It’s a house fire at 1058 Northern. And on second thought, don’t tell him I said yay. Thanks, and I guess we’ll see you two there!”

                “Alright, Erica, I’ll tell him. Thanks, and uh, stay safe.”

                “You too, Stiles.”

                Stiles ended the call and looked up at Derek, whose grip on the wheel seemed to have loosened with worry. “Was that a job?”

                “Yeah, 1058 Northern.”

                “Shit, that’s near here. Stiles, I think I need to bring you along, I’m so sor—”

                “Don’t be, I’ll be fine. Do your job, firefighter.”

                “Yes, sir,” Derek snorted, and with a bone-weary sigh, Derek accelerated towards the fire, and Stiles said nothing.

*

                “Stay here.”

                “Yeah, no arguments here,” Stiles leaned back in his seat, the car safely parked away from the firetrucks, and Stiles saw with a pang of fear, the shapes of his friends (he kind of hoped he could call them friends) running through smoke.

                “I’m serious, Stiles,” Derek almost looked pained as he stared at Stiles through the car window, pulling on the suit that Erica had given him when they’d arrived. “I don’t want to have to go in there and save you.”

                “Nice to know you think I’m actually _that_ stupid, man. Now get out of here, you got people to save.”

                Derek paused as he held the helmet in front of him, his jacket already pulled on as he stared at Stiles, looking to all the world like he wanted to say something. Instead, though, he nodded once, gruffly, and turned, barking tasks to various people.

                Stiles curled up on the seat, wrapping his arms around his legs, and feeling vaguely sick as he watched Derek and what looked like Boyd run into the building. He wondered if it was the smoke that was making his stomach clench, and if he should warn Derek to—

                Oh.

                Swearing softly, Stiles dropped his head on the dashboard, closing his eyes. He knew this feeling. The little flips in his stomach every time Derek’s face appeared in his head. It meant he was collapsing, dropping, falling yet again.

                When Stiles had first felt it, it had been exciting. He had told his mom about it, explaining with wild hand gestures what he thought, and his mom had laughed and told Stiles to treasure that feeling. Except he couldn’t, not with the knowledge that, after twenty three years of living and loving, Stiles was doomed. Dereks were infinite, or so it seemed; and so were their abilities for breaking Stiles’ heart.

                Fuck, Stiles was so lost.

*

                Derek returned to the car, visibly shaken. He didn’t mention the fact that Stiles had slid into the driver’s seat, just paused in front of that door and then switched sides, slipping into the passenger seat silently.

                “Should I go to the station or home?”

                “Home.”

                So Stiles drove, mind wandering as he tried to remember the path back to Derek’s. He wanted to ask if everyone lived, if there had ever been any real danger. He wanted to check Derek over for burns, just to assure his aching mind that he’d be okay.

                Instead, he drove down the dirt road, turning into Derek’s driveway, flicking off the car, and silently leaving Derek to the peace that Stiles knew he needed.

                Stiles didn’t see Derek at all for the rest of the day, but still he quietly made extra soup for lunch and put aside a sandwich for dinner. It was almost midnight when Stiles heard a sound at his door and made a noncommittal noise to enter, pausing the music he was listening to.  Derek slipped in, barely looking at him before he dropped down on the foot of the bed, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.

                “There was a large family inside,” was all he said.

                “You okay?”

                “We saved them all,” Derek replied, not answering the question.

                “Isn’t that a good thing?” Stiles asked, softly.

                “I couldn’t do that for my own family,” he whispered and _ah_ , so that was the crux of the problem.

                “Derek, you were in grade nine. _Nine_. You are a fully grown man. Even if you could travel in time, you wouldn’t have been able to save all of them.”

                “Some of us got out.”

                “Yeah, you did. And look at you now, with Cora at university and you saving lives.”

                “And Laura dead and Uncle Peter abandoning us.”

                “Neither of which you could control. Just like you couldn’t control ... everything back then. Except now you can sort of control these things. You can save people from fires and you can give them the control that you never got.”

                For a while, Derek didn’t say anything, and the only sound was their breaths, soft in the warm air, lulling Stiles to sleep. He almost had fallen asleep when Derek spoke up again, still quiet, but sounding more powerful.

                “Thank you.”

                “Hey, no, that’s what I’m here for.” Stiles tugged the blanket out from underneath Derek, edging towards him so they were sitting side by side, and dropped the blanket over the both of them. For a moment, Derek looked bemused, and then he just looked exhausted.

                “You look tired, Derek.”

                “I am, Stiles.”

                Stiles paused, feeling like he ought to say something deep and meaningful, about life and death and love and all the stuff in between, but instead he just stayed silent, which was, in any event, harder to do than talk. He hoped Derek appreciated it.

                “I should go,” Derek murmured, but his eyes were still closed and Stiles thought that he looked more comfortable than he’d ever seen him.

                “You don’t have to,” Stiles replied, looking up at the ceiling and almost feeling bad about staring at Derek when he couldn’t see him.

                “No, I should.” And then Derek was leaving, opening and closing the door, and leaving Stiles alone with his aching chest and worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god so many dereks i'm so sorry i promise that the dereks will clear up, but lemme tell you that there are only like 3 or 4 important ones okay
> 
> ps find me at thoooooooooooooriiiiiiiiiiiiin.tumblr.com


	7. Stiles Stilinski Goes on A Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles sometimes likes to pretend that his dating history doesn't have horrible similarities to a slow motion train wreck.

Something changed after that, but Stiles didn’t know what. Derek seemed to be distant, barely talking to Stiles and always away, working. Stiles took it in stride, only wondering about it late at night when he was alone and able to cocoon himself in thoughts.

                On the other hand, he had found friends in the other firefighters, especially Erica and Isaac—and, of course, Allison, who seemed to be out of the station with Scott more often than not—and Stiles found himself wondering if he would ever leave Wolf Paw.

                “Just don’t,” Erica rolled her eyes when Stiles brought it up and Stiles began to protest, but was quickly cut off. “No, seriously, what’s keeping you in your home town?”

                “Well, I have a dad,” Stiles replied flatly. Erica shrugged.

                “If he’s at all like you, he’d probably move here with you.”

                “I’m sorry, who said I was moving here?”

                “Look, Stiles,” Erica sat up from the couch she was sitting on, one of the many strewn around the station’s day room. “You have boyfriend problems. That sucks. You know what could help?”

                Stiles wanted to say something like pizza or crying, but instead shook his head.

                “Moving to a brand new place where only a handful of people know who you are!” Stiles thought Erica’s jazz hands were a little over the top.

                “But who can actually do that?” Stiles shook his head, slumping back on the couch. “I don’t know, Erica. I just... don’t know.”

                “Hey, you don’t have to do it now, maybe in a couple years, when you’ve gotten fired from your first job and are feeling horribly dejected and maybe want to become a fireman,” Erica flashed him a grin. “Not too long, though, we don’t want Derek forgetting about you.”

                “I doubt that could happen. He explained to me in great detail just how terrible a guest I was while driving here and I’m still not entirely sure he didn’t plan on killing me via horrible car crash.”

                “He’s too good for that. He’d probably only go for serious maiming below the neck.” Erica narrowed her eyes on Stiles and he sighed, giving her a long look.

                “Scott told you?”

                “Told me what? I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

                “About,” Stiles waved his hand listlessly. “The _history_.”

                “Your dating history, you mean.”

                “Yeah.”

                “Consisting entirely of guys named Derek.”

                “Yeah.” Stiles rubbed at his face slowly, wishing for a way, _any possible way_ , to get out of this conversation. It was one that he had learned did not get easier with age.

                “Do you like him?”

                “Wait, what?” Stiles twitched an eyebrow at Erica, who continued to stare. “Who—Oh, no. No, no, no, no. I’m not doing this with you, Erica. We are not having a heart to heart about my feelings for anybody, least of all—”

                “Stiles. Please, just answer the goddamn question.”

                Stiles chewed his lip, staring at Erica, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. For a moment, he wanted to go down the hallway and grab Derek out of the weight room and _leave forever_ , but Stiles was exhausted. He was tired of loving Dereks and he was tired of them leaving him. He was tired of the endless circle, and as much as he loved Scott, Erica was there and who knew? Maybe she would be the one to sort him out.

                “Yeah, I think I really do.”

                “Then go for it.”

                Well. That wasn’t what Stiles had expected.

                “Are you _joking_?”

                “Do I look like I’m joking, Stilinski?” Erica stood up, tossing her hair over her shoulder in the most haughty and dramatic way possible. “You want something, you go after it. I can tell you that because I know he wants you too, and besides.” Erica snorted, making her way towards the weight room. “What have you got to lose?”

*

                Stiles sort of hated himself for it, but he thought about Erica’s words. He thought about it while he watched movies at the station and he thought about it when Derek pulled him away halfway through his movie marathon, citing horrible hunger for his reasoning and he thought about it when he realised Derek was pulling into the parking lot of some small town diner, with Stiles in tow.

                “Wait, what?”

                “Oh, you stopped zoning out. Good, I didn’t want to leave you in the car, you might have broken it. Coming?” Derek was already slamming the door and beginning to head inside as Stiles’ mind clicked into place and he let out a cry of, ‘Wait!’ scrambling out the door after a laughing Derek.

                He made it inside as Derek was sitting down, dropping into the seat across from him and puffing out a gasp of air.

                “You would be a terrible firefighter,” Derek commented mildly, motioning to the waitress for a menu. She came over, dressed in painfully un-ironic retro 50’s clothes, which, Stiles was slowly realising, mirrored the decorations around the restaurant.

                “Oh god this is a 50’s diner.”

                “No,” Derek flipped open his menu, smiling a thanks to the waitress as she shrugged and walked away. “It’s been around since the 50’s and never changed its decor.”

                “Dear god, what have you done to me.” Stiles shuddered and opened his menu, pleased to find hamburgers and chocolate milkshakes on the menu. Stiles scanned the food, glancing up occasionally over top of the laminated paper to peer at Derek, who was looking out the diner window thoughtfully, as if trying to figure out a nice way to leap out of it and escape Stiles’ company.

                “You know, I think if you stare long enough it’ll actually just open.”

                Derek twitched an eyebrow at that, but turned towards Stiles, looking unperturbed. Stiles cleared his throat and waved his hand vaguely towards the window. “Or you could just get up and leave, I mean, either is fine.”

                “I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

                “Oh.”

                Derek rolled his eyes, picking up the menu again and Stiles wasn’t sure if he should be happy or sad at that. He chose to be ambiguous and look around the diner. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, really. The jukebox in the corner was bright and flashy and Stiles was pretty sure that if he deposited a dollar, it would just collapse, but it added to the ambience somehow. He was just wondering if the menus had been around since the 50’s too when Derek spoke up.

                “You know I don’t actually despise your company.”

                Stiles snorted. “Of course I know that, you have never made it seem like that ever.”

                There was a pause as Derek gave Stiles a look and he relented.

                “Okay, maybe a few times, but it’s just your face. It’s so angry.”

                “I’m not dignifying that with an answer.”

                He didn’t have to either, because the waitress came and went, and Derek was asking about Scott; and Stiles, having nobody else to complain to, burst into a very loving tirade about every single one of Scott’s annoying habits, which Derek seemed to find endlessly amusing. Stiles was just getting to the really good parts when he realised that he’d talked the entire meal and found himself stuttering to a stop as he watched Derek hand a crumpled ball of bills to the waitress with another smile as he turned back towards Stiles.

                “You were saying? Something about Scott’s inability to play lacrosse.”

                “I talked through the whole meal,” Stiles said, wonderingly.

                “Wanna go for a walk? I’m paid to stay in shape and don’t plan on losing my job.”

                Stiles frowned at that, about to ask what was going on because suddenly this entire thing seemed very suspect and _just what had Erica said to Derek anyway?_

                But Stiles just shrugged and nodded, following Derek out the door and down the sidewalk. It was dark in Wolf Paw, and Stiles found himself adding starsto his list of Reasons to Stay in Wolf Paw.

                “I think they’re the reason I’ve never moved back into the city,” Derek said softly, following Stiles’ gaze upwards, eyes drinking in the sight. “Turn here.”

                Stiles turned obediently and frowned as Derek pushed aside a particularly thick and pointy looking bush. “I think you missed the path there, Derek.”

                “No, trust me. There’s something I wanted to show you.”

                Stiles couldn’t brush off the tiny thrill that those words sent through him, but that didn’t make climbing through brambles any easier. He made it through with an embarrassing amount of help from Derek, who didn’t even look scratched, that bastard.

                “C’mon, it’s just up ahead.” Stiles had to suppress a smile at the look on Derek’s face, and he wondered just what it was that Derek was leading him to. Moonlight was threading its way down through the trees, leafy and full in the summer air, and Stiles took a moment to breathe it in before he tracked after Derek, who had gone up ahead already.

                Stiles stumbled over roots and branches, cursing for a few moments as he tried to gain his footing, and then stopped, looking up. High in the treetops, marked by a rope ladder and a rickety sign that read, “Derek n’ Laura’s” with a tiny, hand printed, ‘and Cora too!’, was a treehouse.

                “Of all things,” Stiles muttered to himself, feeling the grin spreading across his face. He looked up to see Derek moving around inside, and Stiles found himself cupping his hands around his mouth and calling up, with a laugh, “I can’t believe your writing was this bad! It’s an embarrassment!”

                Stiles could hear the snort of laughter from inside and grinned, tugging on the ladder and beginning to ascend. It swayed horribly and the treehouse was fairly high up, but Stiles felt a strange, giddy feeling rising through his body and he knew that right then, nothing could have stopped him from going inside that treehouse. While he was climbing, Derek talked.

                “It was built by Uncle Peter, with our help. He started working on it the first day we came here and finished it in time for summer holidays. We spent every day in this place, from sunrise to sunset. Sometimes he even let us spend the night in here. I loved it more than anything. _We_ loved it more than anything.”

                Stiles pulled on the last rung, hauling himself up into the treehouse, flopping onto the ground. He looked up from his spot on the ground to see Derek sitting against the opposite wall, running his thumb over the floor. Stiles paused before dropping down beside him, marvelling to himself at how warm it was inside and how warm Derek was beside him, and how warm his hand was against Stiles’ neck, pulling him closer and—

                Derek’s lips were soft as they moved across Stiles’, spelling out words that filtered through his mind meaninglessly. The hand that had pulled Stiles in tugged him closer, fingers winding into the ends of Stiles’ hair, and Stiles found himself running hands up Derek’s shoulders, twining fingers around his neck and pulling him closer, closer. Fractured sentences and questions flooded his mind, a tide coming and going, leaving behind simple thoughts.

                _Don’t stop._

_Don’t leave._

Stiles pulled Derek in, tugging his arms even tighter and tipping his head to the side, and he forgot, for just one moment, everything except the smell of summer air drifting through open windows and the feeling of Derek surrounding him.

*

                They broke apart to breathe, and Stiles felt his stomach tighten pleasantly when he noticed Derek’s huffs of breath, pleased that _he_ had done that. To a guy who was contractionally obligated to work out more than once a week, no less.

                “You, um, were saying something,” Stiles still had his hands wound lazily around Derek’s neck, and he bumped their foreheads together softly, barely paying attention.

                “Actually, yeah,” Derek looked up at him through heavy lidded eyes, a small smile brushing across his face before he spoke, softly and with purpose. “I wanted to tell you before. I—It’s hard to explain, but Stiles, I’ve been in love with someone for a long time. _Years_. Since I was young, and I really think that you need to—”

                “No.” Stiles said, because that was the only word and sound that he could think and hear. “No, no, _no_ , not you too.” And suddenly he was standing and backing towards the door and grappling for the ladder, and Derek had a panicky look on his face, as if everything was going wrong, but how could it be wrong for him? So what if he’d been in love with someone? Stiles had been in love with more someones than he enjoyed counting, and he’d had his heart broken by all of them. Every last one.

                Stiles was down the ladder and running through the forest before he could form a coherent thought. 

                He wondered why he thought that this Derek would be different.

                He wondered why he thought that they were all different.


	8. Stiles Stilinski Is Too Old For This Sh--

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course Stiles was aware that his dating history was awful, but it was one thing to know it, and a completely different thing to have it thrust in his face like a particularly badly punctuated drunken text message. Which, coincidentally enough, he had the experience of sending roughly four times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have literally no excuses so I will just post this and tell you the next chapter will be up within the week because I am so so so so sorry

                “Scott, we’re drinking, meet me at that bar near the fire station, don’t ask why, just get there in five.”

                Stiles hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket, sighing heavily. He wondered, vaguely, if this was a good idea, because inevitably he’d have to go home and home meant Derek’s house and Stiles was just not even remotely ready for that, especially since he was planning on getting horribly, awfully drunk.

                Scott showed up when Stiles was just finishing off his first beer, and the moment he walked in, Stiles whirled around from where he sat at the bar, and stared at Scott, opening his mouth to say something.

                “Did I ever tell you about the time that I fell face first into a pile of what turned out _not_ to be mud?” Scott asked thoughtfully, taking a seat beside Stiles and giving him a wry smile.

                Stiles paused, levelling Scott with a look that said ‘ _I know what you’re doing_ ’. “I don’t think so.”

                “Great! Well, it was back in high school, when I was dating Naomi Berwick...” Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t know he was holding in, motioning for the bartender to get him another drink. It was times like this when he remembered why he and Scott were such good friends. Of course, he loved Scott and there was something about having him around just made Stiles feel so much less... alone.

                Stiles touched the new drink to his lips, Scott’s words fading into the background. His treacherous mind wandered to Derek, to kissing Derek. A bottle was a poor substitution, but he’d make do.

                “—iles? Stiles, c’mon, that was my best story.”

                Stiles glanced over and caught the tail end of a nervous look from Scott. He shook his head, sending all thoughts of Derek away, and plastered a smile on for Scott’s sake.

                “Sorry, I was just imagining Naomi’s face.”

                “Right,” Scott side-eyed Stiles like a hawk until Stiles relented, slumping down over the counter and trying not to think about how many people had puked there.

                “I sort of kissed Derek.”

                “How do you sort of—”

                “ _I definitely kissed Derek.”_

                Scott was silent for a moment before he let out a soft laugh, smirking against his bottle and making Stiles question his friends. “ _What?”_

“No, just... your dad’s gonna be pissed.”

                Stiles let out a groan, slumping back on the counter and motioning for another drink. The bartender passed it over quickly, and Stiles wondered if he could set up a tab for Derek to pay off. He figured he owed Stiles anyways. Who kissed someone and then told them that they _were in love with someone else?_

                Stiles sucked down the dregs of his last beer and glanced over at Scott, who looked almost shocked. It was then that Stiles realised that he must have been talking aloud.

                “He... did he really say that?”

                “Yup. He kissed me and told me that he’d been in love with someone since he was little. Like _who actually does that_?”

                “Could it... I mean, is it possible it was you?”

                “Doubt it. I mean, all the little Dereks I knew had blonde or red or light brown hair.”

                “What about Derek number two?”

                “The One Who Never Was? Nope, I talked to him recently and I’m pretty sure he’d have said if I had been living in his house,” Stiles sucked down half a beer, slamming it on the counter in annoyance at everything. “Besides, I basically told him my entire dating history, if I had been living with him that would just be embarrassing.”

                “Guess so,” Scott mumbled, slurping from his own cup, a coke with a painfully fancy straw and umbrella that was giving Stiles major secondhand embarrassment.  “Still, would have been one hell of a story. Reunited with your first love after years of searching! Stiles Stilinski wins the boy! A happy ending had by all!” Scott was grinning now, hand cast above his head, motioning towards the ceiling, unfortunately decorated with spitballs and strange stains. Stiles snorted.

                “My love life is hardly a happy ending, Scott. If anything it’s a Shakespearean tragedy.” Stiles gave Scott a pointed look. “Everyone dies.”

                “Well, that’s no way to look at things.” Scott paused, eyeing Stiles with _that look_ , the same one he’d given Stiles when he had told Scott he was in love for the first time. It had been New Kid Derek, hands down, with his charming smile and the way that he had laughed at all of Stiles’ jokes and _God_ , Stiles was probably still a little bit in love with him.

                With all of them, probably.

                (With one of them)

                “You really like him, don’t you? Like, _really_ like him.”

                “Yeah.”

                “So what are you going to do about it?”

                Stiles gave Scott a weary smile. “He’s in love with someone else, isn’t he? So I’ll leave it to someone else. Maybe ... maybe we should just go back to Beacon Hills.”

                “Dude, I love you, but things are going really well for me and Allison and I’m not leaving her because you kissed a guy that you like.”

                “When you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

                “Sorry to break it to you, man but,” Scott stood, clapping him on the shoulder roughly. “It kind of is. Just... go for it. If you don’t succeed, well... you of all people have proven that there’s always someone else around the corner.”

                Stiles smiled sadly and Scott hovered where he stood. “Allison, um wanted to see a movie today but I’ll stay if you want Stiles, really I—”

                “Dude, I’m not broken. Go, I can handle a little rejection.”

                Scott gave him a small smile, one that looked a little bit too pitying for Stiles’ taste. “I know you can,” He said, and then with a quick squeeze of Stiles’ shoulder, left.

                Stiles sighed, motioning tiredly to the bartender to get him another drink.

*

                It was probably closing in on midnight, but there were still about twenty people left in the bar, casually chatting with one another, leaving Stiles to migrate to a corner booth alone. He felt strange, a lonely kid in a bar full of people who knew each other, and the idea made him uncomfortable. He had always been a social person, which was, if he was being honest with himself, probably one of the main reasons he was always searching for a Derek.

                There was no perfect Derek in Stiles’ mind. No ideal image that he searched for when subconsciously choosing his next partner. It varied as much as the name didn’t. In between Dereks he’d daydream about a weird mishmash of past Dereks, choosing parts like it was a game of make-your-own-boyfriend. Now Stiles just wondered if he was ruined for other Dereks. A firefighter? Someone had better have mercy on him and give him a supermodel if this Derek didn’t work out.

                It was then that Stiles smelled it. The hint of smoke and fire that had sent a shudder through him when he had gone to the house with Derek. A feeling of dread shook him down to his core and Stiles searched the bar nervously, wondering just who constructed bars of wood these days, anyway?

                He spotted the spark in the far corner, by the bar, a flame lapping up the walls near the washroom door, and Stiles guessed someone had flicked a cigarette half-lit and forgotten about it.

                Then it hit him in a whirl of panic and flight reflexes, _firefirefirefireFIRE._

“FIRE!” Stiles roared, leaping up from his place in the corner and dashing towards the bar, hoping that the bartender had the sense _not_ to throw alcohol on the flames. Panicked cries went up everywhere, and Stiles diverted to the door, motioning people outside as they watched the flames lick higher and higher up the walls. It was then that Stiles noticed the shiny patch upon the ground and opened his mouth to call out a cry to step back, because _of course_ people would drop alcohol by the washroom door in a rush and _of course_ someone would flick a cigarette right where there was a spill and this was exactly what his dad would call a ‘bad job’.

                But Stiles couldn’t get the words out soon enough and he watched in horror as the flames spiked higher, a great burst of heat consuming the area, sparks springing out and reaching, grasping at people’s clothes as Stiles and a few other faceless people rushed the panicked people out. It was only then, when almost everyone was out, and people were grabbing at his sleeves to go, _come on, we need to go before the places collapses_ , when Stiles heard the cries from behind closed doors.

                “There’s someone in the washroom,” Stiles whispered, and looked back at the only other person left inside, the bartender, who shook his head at Stiles.

                “There are firefighters on their way, you can’t get through that, you’ll die!”

                “They’ll die if we wait for the firefighters to get here!” Stiles cried, pulling back sharply from man, feeling his short sleeve tearing beneath the bartender’s grip. Stiles stumbled backwards, staring pleadingly at the man for a moment before turning and taking a deep breath.

                Derek was going to be _so_ mad at him.

*

                The first rule Stiles’ dad had taught him when he was little had been to always open a door by kicking near the handle. His mom had been there for the life lessons and stories about love and death and everything in between, but his dad had given him practical advice on how to escape quicksand. Stiles remembered the first thing that his dad had said to him after his mom had died.

                “Stiles,” He had turned to him, face wrinkling as he adjusted Stiles’ bowtie, eyes searching between Stiles and the tombstone before them. “I’m going to teach you how to deal with grief.”

                So there Stiles stood, fire crawling across his nerves, pain piercing his skin and he remembered his dad’s words as he quickly and surely knocked the door down.

                Behind it was a man, about sixty, coughing and spluttering, smoke circling around him, and it was only then that Stiles realised how smoky it had gotten inside the bar, how difficult it was to breathe, how much he wanted to gasp in a breath of clear air...

                But he couldn’t. Not right now. Instead, trying not to think too hard, Stiles pulled the guy up by the arm and, considering the largest weights he lifted were quarter-pounder burgers, attempted to sling him over his shoulder. He succeeded, but just barely, and Stiles grunted in effort, trying to stand. He only succeeded in sucking in a lungful of smoke, coughing as he tried to take one step, and then another. He concentrated on that, not the ever-growing feeling of lightheadedness and the weight that had settled uncomfortably over his shoulders. If he left this guy now, they’d both pass out, and Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek and his team would get there soon enough to save both of them.

                Stiles found himself near the doorway, and managed to take another shaky step, almost collapsing forwards as he lowered the guy to the ground. Everything was going fuzzy around the edges of his vision, and Stiles heard yelling around him, and voices rising in pitch with panic.

                “He’s here, he’s safe,” Stiles tried to say, but his voice was dry and raspy, and he couldn’t help wondering if he should have drank more.

                “Stiles? Oh my God, Stiles, you’re—” Hands grasped at him, and Stiles could feel himself being carried out into the cool night air, and he wondered if it was supposed to be this cold in summer, if that said something about his condition. Except now he was being lowered onto softness and somewhere above him a blurry mask was being lifted off and it was _Derek_ who had saved him and wasn’t that nice of him?

                “Stiles, you’re going to fine, you’re going to be _fine_ , Stiles, you’re going to be—”

                “I know,” Stiles tried to say but his voice was quiet and not working properly, and Derek was above him, even as Stiles could feel himself moving. “I’m going to be fine.”

                The movement got clunky and almost painful, and Stiles was pretty sure he was being put in a car, and he could see Derek watching him, looking for all the world like he wanted to climb in after him. Instead, he gripped the car doors heavily, staring at Stiles, eyes flicking across his body as people moved around him like ants, attaching tubes to Stiles’ body.

                “Stiles,” Derek’s voice was beginning to sound hollow in his ears, and the fuzziness of earlier was creeping in again. “Earlier, when we were talking I—you. It was _you.”_

                And everything went black.


	9. Stiles Stilinski Finally Catches A Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If karma was real, then he deserved a payoff. A big payoff. Like, winning-the-lottery-6-times-in-one-day type payoff.

Stiles woke up in a bed.

                Not his own bed, no, his would never have such crisp, clean white sheets—it was _one_ time and the coffee stain had come out, _god_ —and he was definitely not dead, because that would mean this bed would be a racecar bed, not some lame hospital bed and—

                Oh.

                He struggled to sit up, wrestling with bandages that felt too tight and the feeling of fire running over his skin. He collapsed back against the pillow, feeling strangely worn out and had only enough energy to turn his head, brightening when he saw who was there.

                “Dad!” Stiles beamed, but wiped his face of emotion when he saw how distraught his dad looked, pale and haggard, as if Stiles had gone and done something colossally awful. Like die.

                “You’re awake,” his dad gave him a ghost of a smile and Stiles nodded, reaching for the glass of water that sat on the table. He felt his hand wrap around the glass but stopped mid-reach, staring at his arm.

                It was _covered_ in bandages. Sterile and white, twining over the tops of his fingers as well, like a particularly determined snake. Stiles swallowed thickly, clutching the glass tighter and leaning forward to take a slow sip. The pain was back full force, and Stiles drained the glass before he knew better, pressing the condensation against his arm with a hiss. His throat was raw from the smoke, but it felt somewhat better after the water and Stiles chewed at his lip, studying his dad's face, creased with worry and it was all his fault.

                “What happened?”

                “You almost _died_ , Stiles.”

                “I, uh...” Stiles put the glass back, toying with the blanket, careful not to move it too much. “Anything else?”

                “Stiles, this is not a joke. Derek had to go in and pull you out _himself_. He probably could have died as well, and I think I’d like to know exactly what you were thinking!”

                But Stiles had only caught part of his dad’s tirade and halted in his fiddling. “Derek almost died?”

                His dad sighed slowly, running a hand over his face. “Not really. But he was the only one to go in and get you. _You_ , who was the only one left in the bar.”

                “Dad, I’m sorry. Really, I mean—” Stiles waved an arm vaguely and winced as the bandages tightened. “I don’t know what I mean. I’m sorry and it was bad and you drove all the way out here to see me, dad, _god_.”

                “Of course I came,” his dad frowned, as if driving for twelve hours was no more difficult than driving to the grocery store. “You’re my son.”

                “Dad, no, you can’t just say stuff like that,” Stiles brushed at his eyes, ignoring how watery they felt. “No heart-to-heart’s while I am mummified.”

                “I can get behind that.”

                “And no Dereks, too.”

                His dad seemed to shift in his seat, glancing back out the hospital room door. “Well,” he mumbled, and Stiles stared.

                “Weren’t you the one telling me no Dereks?” He asked, and immediately after, felt sure that he did not want to have this conversation.

                “I don’t care about their _names_ , Stiles, I care about how they treat you.”

                “Right, and you know that _that_ Derek will treat me right forever and ever and ever, amen.”

                His dad turned back with a sigh. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

                “No.”

                “Then I am fairly certain that we are at an impasse. Either way, I have sat in that chair for too long and there are other people who want to see you.”

                “Dad,” Stiles sucked in a breath, staring at the empty glass so as to have something else to look that. “Thanks. For coming.”

                “Anything for you, kid.”

                And Stiles was alone again, with only a few seconds to collect his thoughts before there was another knock on the door.

                “Yeah, come in,” Stiles ran a hand through his hair, staring out the side window onto the parking lot. He had absolutely no fucking clue what he was going to do when he got out of this hospital. Maybe he’d talk to The Derek Who Never Was. Maybe he’d jump in the jeep and not look back for another five hundred miles.

                Maybe he’d go home.

                “Stiles?” Stiles craned his head back and felt his heart bottom out.

                “Hey,” Stiles said, and he waved vaguely at Wolf Derek— _Potential Boyfriend Derek_ , his mind supplied, unhelpfully—and pressed his hand to his eyes with a groan. “No, forget I said that, my throat feels raw and I can’t talk right now.”

                “That would be an improvement.”

                Stiles glared balefully at Derek, but the exhaustion seemed to wear him out, and he slumped back against the pillow.

                “So, I was talking to your dad just now and he said that you should be fine to go home in another day,” Derek leaned back in the stiff chair, staring at the ceiling. “He said he can drive you back and Scott can take the jeep when he wants to leave.”

                Stiles stared at Derek, wondering why, exactly, he was telling him all this. Instead of asking, he tugged the blankets further up so that they wrapped over his shoulders. Stiles wondered if he could stay another night at Derek’s. He wondered if Derek would want him to.

                “I think you should stay,” Derek said.

                Stiles said nothing. Derek continued to stare at the ceiling.

                There was a long pause as Stiles tried to figure out what to say, and with a frown, he flipped over, grabbing at the newspaper that his dad had left and scribbling frantically over the half-finished Sudoku and handed it to a bewildered Derek.

                _Who are you?_

“I’m guessing you don’t have amnesia,” Derek replied, handing the paper back. “When you were a kid, did you ever get to know your neighbours?”

                Hesitantly, Stiles nodded.

                “And did they move away when you were young?”

                Stiles nodded again, tiny fragments of memories slowly piecing together.

                “And was one of the kids named Derek?”

                Stiles’ jaw dropped, and he scrambled upright, jabbing his finger furiously at Derek, who gave him a small smile. “Yeah, I think you pieced it together.

                “There was always this little joke between my mom and your dad. It started with some party invitations that she mailed out, and one was sent to you guys, which I guess he thought was pretty funny, considering we lived so close,” Derek shrugged, his thick jacket swamping him with its size in the tiny room. “They kept doing that over the years, sending letters to each other. It was only after... well, after what happened with your mom that my mom became more serious about it, and after we moved I couldn’t help but keep sending letters. He told me about you and how you were doing, and he was probably the best person to talk to after what happened to Laura. When you showed up, I assumed that he had told you, but, well. Obviously not.”

                Stiles clicked the pen quickly, scrawling another note below the first one.

                _I knew everything except where you lived._

“Oh, well that’s reassuring. He never told me about the Derek thing, though,” Derek grinned, though he was still staring at the ceiling. “I’m flattered, by the way.”

                Stiles rolled over onto his front, smothering himself in the pillow.

                “I think it’s wonderful symmetry, you know. I feel as though I should get an award for being the first and the last Derek.”

                Stiles froze, slowly turning his head towards Derek, who was gritting his teeth together, staring at the ground.

                Stiles clicked the pen, reaching out and scribbling as well as he could upside down on Derek’s arm.

_The last?_

                “It was nothing, sorry.”

                Stiles pulled a face, tapping his pen sharply against the words again.

                “I didn’t mean it.”

                Stiles tapped again, hard enough that Derek winced and shot him a look.

                “Alright, I meant it, but only because I don’t want one of us to spend another decade searching for the other one again!”

                Stiles grinned, sitting up and reaching forward to poke softly at Derek’s face, which was turned away, almost hiding the pink tinge that had spread across the bridge of his nose. Derek turned, and the worry that creased his face was painful enough that Stiles leaned forward, pausing only to breathe a soft whisper against Derek’s lips.

                “I don’t want to have to search for you either.”

                Derek let out a soft sound, pressing closer until their lips met, wrapping a hand around the back of Stiles’ head as Stiles sighed into the kiss. It was sloppy with desperation, and Stiles was utterly disgusted and in love, trying to hold himself  steady without doing any more damage to his already painful arms. Derek seemed to notice them, running a slow hand over Stiles’ ribs and pressing fingertips to his hips.

                “You know,” Derek murmured, in between kisses. “I think you should be resting and recuperating.”

                “You’re a fireman, not a doctor,” Stiles grumbled, his voice thick and scratchy from the smoke inhalation. Derek pulled back, smiling.

                “I have first aid, and I say you should rest. You’re practically falling asleep anyway.”

                “I am not,” Stiles replied, though he wondered why he Derek was slowly getting fuzzier around the edges. “You aren’t allowed to leave again.”

                “Neither are you,” Derek replied, and that was the last thing Stiles remembered.

*

                The slam of the car trunk seemed painfully final as Stiles sat back against the stairs that led up into Derek’s house.

                “So you’re leaving, then?” He blinked up at his dad, who looked perturbed.

                “I am, yeah. I have work and the plants probably need watering. Besides, you have the jeep and Scott, so I’d say you’re in pretty good hands.”

                “And Derek,” Stiles added, automatically. “Why did you never tell me about him, dad?”

                “About the fact that you were staying at his house, you mean?” John grinned. “I wanted you to form your own opinions, I suppose. That, and the fact that I knew you were going through a bad breakup, and I wasn’t sure how you would have reacted.”

                “I hate when you make well thought out decisions,” Stiles sighed. “They’re so hard to criticise.”

                John shook his head, turning towards the car and stopping as he was about to get in. “Stay safe, Stiles.”

                “I will, dad.”

                The engine started, and John leaned out the window, calling out once more before he drove off. “Visit sometime, would you? I’m going to want to see my kid once or twice a year.”

                Stiles gave him a bittersweet smile, nodding in agreement and waving as his dad drove off down the dusty road which led away from Derek’s and the grand city of Wolf Paw.

                “Did he just leave?” Stiles turned to see Derek leaning in the doorway, staring at the road that twisted further out.

                “Yeah, and I think we will too.”

                “Is Scott even here yet?” Derek fought a smile, scanning the horizon for him.

                “Eh, who knows. He’ll probably show up soon eno—”

                “I’m here! Don’t leave without me, Stiles, I’m here!” Scott skidded forward from around the back of the house, coming to a panting stop and gasping as he tried to grind out his words. “Oh, my god, don’t leave without me.”

                “Where’s Allison?”

                “What, Allison can come?” Scott’s eyes lit up and Stiles sighed, almost put off by his friend’s sickening adoration.

                “She’s already here, isn’t she?”

                “She was waiting around back until I could convince you to let her come,” Stiles shook his head as Allison poked out from behind the house, smiling at Stiles as she went towards the car.

                “Nice car,” she said, patting the jeep fondly.

                “I love her already,” Stiles replied.

                He stood up, grabbing the bag that sat at his feet and moving to toss it in the trunk. Scott had already put his and Allison’s bags in the car and was now happily spreading out maps with her in the backseat. Stiles twitched a smile, sliding into the driver’s seat and flipping on the car to roll down the window.

                Derek was there, leaning against the car door and eyeing Stiles thoughtfully. “You should visit again.”

                “Of course, I can’t very well forget my favourite firefighters, can I—”

                Derek reached forward, pulling Stiles into a deep, desperate kiss, his hands fisted in Stiles’ collar. Stiles hummed against his lips, pressing his fingers against Derek’s to gentle them and only pulling back when his lungs clamoured for air. “As nice a goodbye kiss as that was, nobody’s called shotgun yet and I need a backup driver.”

                “You want me to come along?’ Derek looked surprised by the information, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

                “No, I want Erica. Of course I want you, Derek! Who else would I entrust to the nigh-holy position of shotgun?”

                Derek smiled, brushing a quick thumb over Stiles’ cheek. “I didn’t pack anything.”

                “You can wear my clothes.”

                “You’re poor as hell and probably can’t even afford gas.”

                “You own your house, I think you can pay for our cheap diner foods.”

                “Hmm,” Derek tugged at Stiles’ collar, pulling him in for another kiss. “I _suppose_ I can come, if only because you asked so nicely.”

                Stiles shoved at him with a smile, and Derek shook his head, going around the car and slipping into the passenger’s seat. He tugged on the seatbelt, turning towards Stiles with a thoughtful look. “Where to?”

                “Everywhere,” Stiles replied, and Derek just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the fact that this took so long to finish and I apologize for any mistakes and I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this, and thank you so much for reading it and sticking with me, you all deserve a lot of prizes!


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